


January 2009: A Month of Stories

by Mira



Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-03
Updated: 2011-12-03
Packaged: 2017-10-26 19:50:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 53,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/287204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mira/pseuds/Mira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story a day for the month of January, 2009 (with three exceptions).  Each day's story is posted as a chapter, but they are unrelated to each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mutual Comprehension

**Author's Note:**

> John/Rodney.

"The thing is," he says, hesitantly, furiously, straining for the exact word but knowing that the exact word doesn't exist, "the thing is that nobody knows anything, _nobody_ knows _anything_ , or any _body_ , including themselves. They can't, you can't, _I can't_ ," he suddenly roars, and punches the wall.  


  
"Ow," he says when he catches his breath.  


  
Rodney rolls his eyes at him. "Moron," he mutters under his breath. "We all already know that, Colonel Suddenly Enlightened. Just deal with it. Sorry your adolesence took so long to arrive." To John's surprise, he takes John's hand in both of his, and John realizes that he's cold, and that his hand really hurts like hell, and that he's having some trouble breathing. He wonders why he came to Rodney's room, so late at night, to have his embarrassing epiphany. He wonders why Rodney is looking at him so -- so tenderly, that's the only word for it, and he realizes he does possess the exact right word.  


  
"Oh," he says when he catches his breath. He and Rodney stare at each other and John realizes more: he realizes that he really knows this man. "I'll be goddamned and sent to hell," he murmurs. Rodney laughs.  


  
"You probably should be," he says, "but I think it's pretty obvious that you won't be. I think it's pretty obvious that you have an appointment with the glowy elves of existentialism once this plane of existence is finished with you."  


  
"You, too," John says with a certainty he welcomes. Maybe words are fuzzy, maybe knowledge is imperfect, maybe language is just a big bag of words that can be translated by magic gate technology, or maybe mutual comprehension isn't possible, but maybe he and Rodney -- maybe he and Rodney --  


  
Rodney gently pulls his sore hand to his face. At first John thinks he's going to kiss it, but he simply rests the back of John's hand against his face, his warm red face, and then puts his other hand on John's waist to gently pull them together, knees bumping, bellies pressed together, breath on each other's faces. John lets him; John leans into him, and then  


  
 _then he remembers his instant of ascension between one breath and the next and as long as every eternity and everywhere he saw Rodney, the big jerk, hyperventilating, shouting, reaching toward John with a determination that transcended dimensions and he's pretty sure that Rodney single-handedly grabbed John from wherever it is that ascended beings exist and pulled him back into his physical body, this body pressed tightly against Rodney's and then_   


  
Well, then John kisses Rodney, who sighs with enormous relief and kisses him right back and John is really, really glad to have a body again because he doesn't think glowy ascended beings can do what he wants to do.


	2. Triskelion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story a day for the month of January, 2009 (with three exceptions). Each day's story is posted as a chapter, but they are unrelated to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teyla Emmagan

Teyla said, "Elizabeth? Do you have a moment?"  


  
"For you, Teyla? All the moments in the world."   


  
Teyla smiled at Elizabeth's cheerful response; it was hard not to smile at Elizabeth. "I wish to invite you to my chambers -- I mean, my quarters. For tea."  


  
"Thank you!" Elizabeth exclaimed, and Teyla thought she genuinely was glad to be invited. "Should I bring something? What is appropriate? You know I'm only learning your ways."  


  
"Just bring yourself. And if you have any of those cookies that Rodney likes so very much, well, I would not spurn them."  


  
"Of course! When?"  


  
"I thought perhaps tomorrow mid-morning. I have observed that you often take a cup of tea or coffee at that time."  


  
"Yes, I do, and yes, I will. Thank you very much, Teyla."  


  
"I am going to ask Kate Heightmeyer, if you do not object."  


  
"Kate is wonderful. Yes, do. I look forward to this."  


  
Teyla was warmed by Elizabeth's appreciation, and the mid-morning tea became a weekly ritual of the three women. Cookies were not in Teyla's repertoire, nor readily available on most worlds she visited, but she provided tea and tisanes from all over the galaxy. Elizabeth brought cookies sent via the _Daedalus_ , usually chocolate chip, but Kate often made her own. Teyla's favorite was called _mandelbrot_ , crunchy enough to dip into tea.  


  
One time Elizabeth brought her laptop with her. "I am sorry to bring work to our tea," she explained, "but I was hoping either of you could help with a translation."  


  
Kate made a face, but Teyla sat closer. "What are you translating, Elizabeth?"  


  
"I'm not sure," she admitted. She accepted a cup of tea from Teyla. "It's very, ah, metaphorical, but perhaps it's simply too advanced for my understanding."  


  
"Read what you have," Kate suggested, sitting back with her own tea and taking a _shortbread_ cookie from the plate Elizabeth had brought.  


  
"You're sure that's okay?" Elizabeth asked Teyla, who nodded firmly.  


  
"I am flattered that you would ask," she said.  


  
"Well." Elizabeth cleared her throat. "Wait a minute." She slid off her shoes and curled her legs beside her. "Well," she said again, and then began to read:  


  
 _Sua saw the past suns rise  
and beyond them the stars of heaven spun  
as children spin in laughter and  
the spider spins her web.  
_

 _  
Mæþe moved the moons above  
moved them faster than Sua's suns  
patterns in retreat, return, renew  
children of the night.  
_

 _  
Aster knew the stars as sisters  
a million little sisters and more  
dancing in laughter   
then jumping away._

  


  
She raised her head and looked at Kate and Teyla, biting her lower lip. "What do you think?" she finally asked, her voice soft.  


  
Teyla looked at Kate, still nibbling on her cookie. She remembered Rodney's impromptu lectures she had listened to over the years. "Perhaps it is a metaphor," she ventured. "Could this be, ah, mathematical?"  


  
Kate straightened abruptly. "I do believe you're right," she said. "Unfortunately, I don't have the math or astronomical skills to decipher this."  


  
"Perhaps Radek could help," Teyla suggested, a smile tugging at her lips. She knew how fond of Elizabeth Radek was. "You should ask him for tea."  


  
Kate laughed, and after a moment, Elizabeth did, too. "Do you know the term matchmaker?" Elizabeth asked Teyla when they'd stopped.  


  
"I am familiar with it," Teyla said, and they laughed again.   


  
Teyla didn't know if Elizabeth ever shared her translation with Radek or not; she was gone, Atlantis had moved, and now only she and Kate shared tea. In their new world, tea became an afternoon pleasure, nearly every day, and they found a balcony to share.   


  
"How are you?" Kate would ask Teyla, and rest her lovely head against Teyla's shoulder. They'd stare out at sea, not speaking of Elizabeth, of the world they'd left behind. One especially chilly afternoon they'd huddled together beneath a quilt that Kate's grandmother had made, rather than move indoors. The tea steamed in the cool air, and they'd laughed at the sea birds flapping awkwardly in the sudden updrafts. Kate had kissed her that day for the first time.  


  
Now Teyla takes her tea alone.


	3. Memory Brushes the Same Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story a day for the month of January, 2009 (with three exceptions). Each day's story is posted as a chapter, but they are unrelated to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam Carter; Daniel Jackson; Teal'c; Jack O'Neill.

Sam said, "I wish you were here, Daniel."  


  
He shrugged. "Jack," was all he said, and she nodded. He was so far away. "How is Teal'c?"  


  
"Teal'c is Teal'c," he said. "Fortunately, he's right here."  


  
"Samantha," Teal'c said, his face coming into view on her monitor. He was smiling.  


  
"What are you -- oh, Teal'c." Her throat closed up, and she swallowed hard. "Hi."  


  
"Hello," he said, and she heard Daniel laugh in the background. "I was visiting Earth when Daniel asked me to join him. I understand you communicate weekly."  


  
"Yes, when we can," she said, smiling helplessly back at him.  


  
"Perhaps it would be wise for you to also contact the Jaffa regularly."  


  
"Perhaps. Say, weekly?"  


  
He nodded. "That would be most beneficial to the Tau'ri-Jaffa alliance. I will make all arrangements."  


  
"Thank you, Teal'c. I'd like that very much."  


  
"As would I, Samantha Carter of Atlantis."  


  
"Will you come visit some time?"  


  
"I hope to, but I am kept busy in my work. As are you."  


  
"Yeah, I guess. I still think Daniel should be here."  


  
"So do I!" he shouted, and jostled Teal'c aside. "Don't suppose you can make any official recommendations?"  


  
"I will," she promised. "In the meantime, what's up? How's Cassie? Hey, is Siler taking care of my bike?"  


  
"Yeah," Daniel said. "He tells me all the time to tell you it's in great shape. And Cassie's doing great."  


  
"She is a remarkable young woman," Teal'c agreed. "I have invited her to visit Chulak when she has completed her studies. I believe she will be able to put to good use her education there in the council."  


  
"As a sort of intern," Daniel said. "Before grad school. I think it's a great idea." He paused and then said softly, "Her mom would be so proud."  


  
Sam nodded, missing Janet hugely. "Our little girl's growing up," was all she said.  


  
"Hey, I forgot -- Jack says hi," Daniel added. All three of them were silent for a few seconds, the distance between them stretching out, attentuated as sound. Sam missed her team, she missed the days they worked together, traveled together, stepped through the stargate together. Sometimes DC seemed farther away than Colorado Springs.  


  
"When did you see him?" she finally asked.  


  
Daniel made a face, his remarkably expressive eyebrows going up and down. "Not for ages," he said. "But we were on a conference call last week with the IOA. He sounded grumpy."  


  
"O'Neill is always grumpy," Teal'c said. "I do not believe it is wise for him to be away from his family."  


  
Sam smiled a little at that; she knew that by "family," Teal'c meant them. "I don't think so, either," she said.  


  
"He needs us to keep him in line," Daniel said darkly. "In DC, it's all politics and kid gloves. He needs to get his hands dirty again, remember what the real universe is like."  


  
"Why? Did something happen?"  


  
Daniel shrugged. Teal'c said, "I believe Daniel Jackson misses O'Neill more than he would have us believe."  


  
"I don't think that _miss_ is the right word," Daniel said, but Sam knew otherwise.  


  
"It's okay, Daniel," she said, lightly touching her monitor. "We know." Teal'c nodded. Daniel made a different face, but he didn't argue.  


  
After a pause, Teal'c said, "Tell us what Atlantis is like, Samantha."  


  
She grinned. "You absolutely have to get out here," she told him. "The people are great, and Evan Lorne's here, remember him? And do you remember Doctor Markov? She's coming out in a couple weeks to do some work studying the underside of the city.  


  
"And the city," she continued. She looked past the monitor, out the windows of her quarters. "It's enormous, and beautiful. I didn't realize how beautiful it would be. or how much I'd love living on the ocean, and I mean _on_ the ocean -- the city floats!"  


  
Teal'c smiled his slow, deep smile. "I will come to Atlantis one day," he promised. "You will show me this city that floats."  


  
Daniel grinned, his eyebrows bobbing again, and Sam felt her face warm. "Well, yeah," she said. "You guys just better."  


  
"Perhaps we will bring O'Neill."  


  
Daniel snorted, inelegant. "Jack's too big a jackass."  


  
"Have you asked him? Or just asked to come here?" Sam wondered. Daniel didn't respond. "The four of us again."  


  
"Indeed."  


  
After a long moment, Daniel said, "I will ask him. But I think we all should. Ask him."  


  
"I also."  


  
Sam nodded. "Okay, boys. I'll send a formal request to him, to reunite SG1 in the lost city of Atlantis." She made a face. "Probably won't work."  


  
"Then I will bring him with me," Teal'c said firmly. Daniel laughed, putting his hand over his eyes, and Sam laughed with him. Teal'c looked his imperturbable self.  


  
"Do that," Sam said. "And soon. I really want to see you."  


  
Teal'c gave her his rare smile, and she felt warmed to her core. She thought the chances of all three of them coming any time soon were slim to none, but just knowing that Daniel and Teal'c wanted to made her happy.  


  
But she underestimated Teal'c, as she had too many times before, so the day that Chuck paged her to the gateroom where she found her team surprised her nearly to tears. She was speechless, but Daniel rushed to hug her, nearly spinning her in a circle, while she laughed. Teal'c bowed to her, then lifted her off the floor in a bear hug that squeezed the air from her lungs. He kept one arm around her, and Daniel took her hand, then she turned to Jack, slouching against one of the consoles, making Amelia look very nervous. "Sir," she said.  


  
He saluted, sloppy as ever. "Colonel Carter. Good to see you, good to be back in Atlantis."  


  
"Oh, rub it in, Jack," Daniel said crossly. He tugged at Sam's hand. "Come on, show us around. Where's your favorite place? Oh!" He pulled something from his tac vest pocket -- two chocolate bars. "Organic and delicious," he said. She took them, grinning at him.  


  
"I know I'll have to share them with you," she said.  


  
Jack clapped his hands. "Chop chop," he said.  


  
"Jack, I've told you that's rude," Daniel said.  


  
"Whatever. Let's go. So, Carter, what's your favorite place in this megalopolis?"  


  
"Technically, it's not a megalopolis," Daniel started, but Jack put his hand over Daniel's mouth. Carter grinned harder at the gateroom personnel's responses.  


  
"This way," she said When they were in the corridor and away from the crowd, she asked, "How long can you stay?"  


  
"How long do you wish us as visitors?" Teal'c asked.  


  
She looked at them. Her boys, her brothers, her team. "As long as possible."  


  
Jack looked apologetic. "Juts a couple days for me. And it's hard to manage without Daniel at the SGC these days."  


  
She led them into a transporter, and immediately out of it. "Whoa!" Jack said, looking around.  


  
"Ring technology," Daniel explained to him. "You know that."  


  
"Knowing and rematerializing are two different things," Jack said.  


  
Sam drew them on, down another corridor, but this with oversized stained glass windows at the far end. She'd always thought they were stylized wings, massive and delicate, and when they drew near, they slid back silently, folding in on themselves.  


  
"Cool," Jack said. The balcony overlooked one of the starfish piers of Atlantis, an especially long one lined with low steps. On warm days, like today, someone could always be found sitting on the steps, having lunch or just enjoying the sun and breeze. On hot days, which would be coming soon, there would be wading and splashing and even swimming, something Sam was looking forward to. She peered down. "Look, that's Doctor Markov," she said to Daniel, who hid behind Jack.  


  
"Don't tell her I'm here," he said, and she knew he was only partly joking.  


  
"I'm afraid you'll see her tonight," Sam told him. "There's a big dinner scheduled for you all."  


  
"But you didn't know we were coming," Daniel objected.  


  
"I just scheduled it."  


  
"Mmm, food," Jack said, put he put a hand on Daniel's elbow and drew him forward.  


  
"Mmm, beer, even," Sam said, grinning at Teal'c.  


  
"I have learned about beer from Sergeant Siler," Teal'c announced. "He holds what he calls _taste tests_ and kindly invited me."  


  
After a silence, Daniel asked, "You drink beer?"  


  
"Trappist Westvleteren 12," he said firmly.  


  
"I'm pretty sure we don't have any in Atlantis," Sam said.  


  
Teal'c smiled at her and raised one eyebrow, his deeply satisfied I've-pulled-one-over-the-Tauri look. "I am, in fact, certain you do."  


  
Jack slapped Teal'c on the back. "Well, all right, big T. Got any plans for it?"  


  
"Indeed," he said. "I shall inform you of them when the time is right."  


  
"Ah, bless," Jack said, rubbing his hands together. "Just like the old days." He nudged Daniel with his elbow. "Remember that time on --"  


  
"Yes, yes, I remember, Jack, but not here in a public hallway."  


  
"Oh, yeah. Heh. Well, Carter, good job. I'll report back to -- hey, I report to me! I'll send myself a note that you're doing good work."  


  
"Thank you, sir," she said, smiling helplessly before his nonsense. Daniel was leaning against Jack, peeking over the railing at the pier so far below. Jack looked tired, but relaxed and as happy as she'd seen him in years.  


  
Teal'c stood next to her, warm and solid. "Colonel Carter," he rumbled, raising that eyebrow. "Samantha. I also remember that time on --"  


  
"Yes, yes," she said hastily, because she remembered it, too, remembered it well, though she was pretty sure Jack didn't, or at least didn't remember what she and Teal'c had been up to. "Well, gentlemen. Let me show you to your quarters and then I have work to do. Got to impress my boss, you know."  


  
"When's dinner?" Jack asked as they turned away from the view.  


  
"Nineteen hundred," she said, and led them to the transporter. "Be there or be square."


	4. Svařák

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story a day for the month of January, 2009 (with three exceptions). Each day's story is posted as a chapter, but they are unrelated to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Radek Zelenka; Rodney McKay.

"What? What are you doing, you annoying little man? Leave me alone! There's work to do, and if I don't do it, who will?"  


  
"Rodney, Doctor Allegri will complete this in the morning, and Doctors Belcastro and Bowen have the vector study under control, and you know that Miko will take care of her project. Why do you not trust your people? No, don't answer that. Come along."  


  
"Don't talk down to me, Radek; I insist upon some measure of respect."  


  
"I will respect you more in the morning if you go to bed now."  


  
"Where are we going? I should be in the lab, not wandering the halls at, at, what time is it?"  


  
"It is very, very late. Come along."  


  
"If it's so late, what were you doing in the lab?"  


  
"I was not. I was cold and thirsty, so I got up to kitchens to make svařák. I pass by the lab en route and there you are. So now you come with me for svařák and then you go to bed."  


  
"What the hell is svařák and why would I want any?"  


  
"Atlantis is cold at night, Rodney. You have told me this yourself. Ah, here we are. Hello, Janet, Clive."  


  
"Hey, Docs. What're you doing up this late?"  


  
"I know why you're here, Radek. You help yourself to the kitchen."  


  
"You will join me in a glass?"  


  
"Who are these people?"  


  
"Rodney, you know Janet Rytirska, who makes the bread you like so very much, and Clive Smith who keeps everything working in the kitchen."  


  
"Oh. Ah, hello."  


  
"Now, come with me, Rodney. You will watch and maybe you will learn."  


  
Radek led him past the bread station, noting that Clive got back to work rather than flirting with Janet, and into the large walk-in pantry. "Here, be useful. Hold these for me: box of cinnamon sticks. Oh, here is the brown sugar, and, careful, don't drop the honey. It's from Vinnedra, did you know? I hear it is lovely there. Major Lorne's team brings it back. Cloves, of course, and I will just -- ah." He extracted a bottle of red wine from a cupboard.  


  
Rodney yawned hugely, his jaw cracking.   


  
Radek led them out of the pantry and into the sous kitchen. He found a large enamel pot and began making a simple sugar with the honey and brown sugar. "No lemon zest tonight," he muttered, keeping an eye on Rodney.   


  
"Mmm, that smells good," Rodney said when the sugars began to boil.  


  
"Will taste even better," Radek promised. He let the sugars and spices simmer a while, pulling down four mugs and rinsing them in hot water. At the last moment, he brought down a fifth mug. Then he opened the wine, removed the pot from the heat, and poured in the wine, stirring madly. Letting the wine sit for a moment, he reached into a pocket of his jacket and pulled out a flask.  


  
"What's that?" Rodney asked, rubbing his face and opening his eyes wide. Trying to keep himself awake, Radek knew.  


  
"Brandy," he said shortly, and poured a good bit into the wine, stirring again. Then he poured the contents of the pot into the five mugs, making sure each mug had a cinnamon stick floating in it. He rinsed the pot and set it in the deep sink, handed Rodney a mug, and took one for himself. "Na zdraní!"  


  
"Bottoms up," Rodney said, and took a cautious sip, then a gulp.  


  
Radek sipped his svařák. Maybe not as good as with lemon and orange in it, but at least Rodney could partake this way. And it did warm him, right down to the soles of his feet. He sighed happily. "Janet! Clive!" They hurried in, smiling.  


  
"Thank you, Radek," Janet said as she took her mug and sipped appreciatively.  


  
"Cheers, Doc," Clive said, and clinked his mug with Radek's before drinking. "Who's the other one for?"  


  
"Secret," Radek said. He picked it up and carefully nudged Rodney with his elbow. "Come, Rodney."  


  
"This was a good idea," Rodney said, following Radek. "Really, I'm sorry I doubted you."  


  
Radek grinned. He took them to the nearest transporter, and pressed the map. In a heartbeat they were walking in another corridor. "You don't have to see me to my room," Rodney said.  


  
"I do not trust you not to return to the labs," Radek said. "Besides, not your room." Awkwardly, trying not to spill anything, he waved his hand in front of the sensor.  


  
"Hey, this is --" Rodney said, when John opened the door.  


  
"You are not sleeping," Radek said. He handed John the fifth mug, and then pushed Rodney toward him. "Here. Enjoy the svařák; it will help you both." He started back toward the transporter. "Rodney, do not come in tomorrow or I will resort to underhandedness."  


  
But Rodney didn't answer. Radek paused in front of the transporter doors to sip his drink, and smiled.


	5. Widow's Watch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story a day for the month of January, 2009 (with three exceptions). Each day's story is posted as a chapter, but they are unrelated to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth Weir; John Sheppard.

Elizabeth said, "When I see a child, especially a little boy, I wonder about the trajectory his life will take. How does a soft-faced, sweet-natured boy," and she chucked the baby under his ample chin so he giggled at her, spit bubbles flying, "grow into a fighter, a killer?" She turned to John. "I don't believe that anyone can know."  


  
John felt his eyebrows raise, but he just shrugged. The biannual festival on Filinna was noisy enough that he could pretend he hadn't heard, but he respected and liked Elizabeth too much to try that. "Life happens," he said.  


  
"I know," she said, and sighed, then raised her hands above her head, clasped them, and stretched up onto her toes. He stopped to watch her. She floated down, arms like wide. "Ballet as a little girl," she explained, smiling hard enough to dimple at him. "Even little girls grow up."  


  
"Too much ruus wine," he suggested, and she laughed.  


  
"Not enough, John. Never enough." They looked around at the jostling, laughing crowd: buying and trading tchotchkes, eating fried dough, sucking on sugar cane from Eshta, waiting in winding lines for the opportunity to toss balls at targets, race in jinricka -- little carts pulled by the women of Jo, each bigger and stronger than the last. Two musical groups competed with each other: one a quartet of woodwinds, blaring and bleating, and a quartet of percussion instruments: two different size drums, a tambourine, a guiro, and gong, making a joyful noise.  


  
She took his arm, and led him on. "Tell me," she said, laughter bubbling beneath her voice. "I've read the reports from the SGC about the adventures of some of the away teams. Have you had anything exciting happen to you?"  


  
"You mean other than being kidnapped or beat up?"  


  
"You know what I mean."  


  
"Ah, drugged: check. Amnesiac: check."  


  
"Married?"  


  
"Maybe."  


  
"To?"  


  
"I won't tell."  


  
She laughed again, her face flushed, but this time he laughed with her. "Sometimes I envy you. Out in this grand galaxy --" she spread her free arm, encompassing not just the festival, not just Filinna, but everything, everywhere. "While I sit at home and worry. The wife left behind."  


  
"Elizabeth, you're here today, and even in Atlantis you're never the wife left behind."  


  
"Maybe," she said. She let go of his arm and danced a bit ahead of him, looking flirtatiously over her shoulder at him. Then she gave herself up to the rhythm of the percussion instruments; the players circled her and began to play to her steps, louder and more exuberantly. Elizabeth was beaming, clapping her hands, almost bouncing. A woman screamed -- ululated, John thought might be the right term -- and joined Elizabeth, grasping her arms and spinning while they danced. John laughed, crossed his arms, slouched back, and shook his head. Elizabeth!  


  
Rodney wandered through the growing crowd to stand at his side. He was chewing on an enormous drumstick of some barbecued creature. "Who knew?" he said, gesturing the drumstick toward Elizabeth.


	6. Maker, Building, Teyla

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story a day for the month of January, 2009 (with three exceptions). Each day's story is posted as a chapter, but they are unrelated to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teyla Emmagan; Kanaan. Explicit sex.

Kanaan watched as Teyla removed her muddy clothing. She and her team were just returned from what they called _first contact_ , and though it was a warm summer day here in Atlantis, the world they'd visited had been cold and rainy and she was sodden from their trek on it.  


  
She had carried her boots in their quarters, eyeing them sadly, and set them on their balcony to dry in the warm air. She'd removed the ugly trousers she wore, the ones that the Atlantians used. At least she continued to wear Athosian blouses and undergarments, he smiled.  


  
He lay on their bed, turned on his side to watch her. Torren was lying in his small trundle bed, dozing after a full morning of play and a hearty lunch. The air smelled of sun-warmed sea, and a small breeze played with long curtains Teyla had made from cloth that Charin had woven when Kanaan and Teyla were children. The light flickered in the room as the curtains swayed; Kanaan found the shimmering light on Teyla's body hypnotic.  


  
Unselfconsciously, she walked about their room wearing only a _singularum_ between her legs and a graceful _tunica_ closed between her breasts with tiny buttons. She checked on the baby, though he was hardly a baby anymore, and tidied his toys and Kanaan's whittling tools. When she turned toward him, the _tunica_ parted and he saw her smooth belly, faint stretch marks from carrying Torren, and the crease beneath her breasts. She was beautiful.  


  
He reached out and she smiled at him, then took his hand and let him draw her to their bed. She climbed into it, and then over him, so he rolled onto his back. Her knees fit on either side of his hips, and she settled onto him. He could feel her moist warmth right through his trousers. She rolled her hips, grinning at him, then fell forward onto her hands and lowered herself. He unbuttoned her _tunica_ and cupped her breasts. She let him slide one into his mouth, his tongue flicking her nipple, and she groaned.  


  
Gently, she pulled her breast away so she could kiss him. He put one hand behind her head and held her firmly; he knew she liked him to be a bit assertive. He slid his other hand under the _tunica_ , down her smoothly muscled back, and beneath the band of her _singularum_. She shivered and pushed against him, sighing into his mouth.  


  
Torren stirred, smacking his lips, and they peered over the edge of the bed at him. He had one fist to his mouth and was drooling. His eyes were not entirely closed and Kanaan could see a moon-slice glittering. "He is getting so big," Teyla whispered to him. Torren frowned in his sleep.  


  
"He needs a little sister or he will spoil," Kanaan whispered into her ear. She shivered, turned her head to look at him, cool and measuring. Kanaan kissed her again, urging her to open her legs wider, pulling aside her _singularum_. As he did, she reached between them and unlaced his trousers. He groaned with relief when she released his prick, hot and swollen. "Please," he breathed. She guided him into her; she was slippery and eager. She left her hand between them and began to move, quietly but firmly. He exhaled sharply, his hips lifting, meeting her. Her mouth opened and her eyes closed; she looked deep in thought. He wondered what she thought about, who she saw behind her eyes -- but that was unkind, and his attention was pulled away, back to his body, to the tilt of her pelvis, her sharp hipbones beneath his hands, her breath on his face . . .  


  
She twisted her hips, paused, trembling, and then gasped. "Kanaan," she whispered, "Oh, my Kanaan." He remember suddenly the first time they'd done this; they'd been so young, away from the settlement. It had been winter, the cold of the earth rising up through the blanket they'd thrown on the ground, the grass crunchy with rime. He remembered how the ice had glittered in the pale sunlight. How much he had wanted her, and how bitter he'd been when she'd turned away from him after that.  


  
But she was here, now, on this warm sunny day, in their comfortable bed, with their son sleeping near; she had chosen him after all, fought for him, rescued him. "My Teyla," he panted; he had begun to sweat and she was so hot, scorching him. "Oh!" The suddenness of his orgasm surprised him and he was almost in pain, trembling beneath her. When he relaxed, she kissed him again, gently this time, and he held her tenderly. After a moment, he moved her, settling her beside him. _Queen,_ he thought, staring into her eyes. Her name _Teyla_ came from an old Athosian word meaning _maker, builder_ , and she was that: she made the impossible: rapprochement between worlds, binding agreements, negotiated truces, connections where none had existed. And she had made Torren, his beautiful son.  


  
"A sister," she said, laughter in her voice.  


  
"If you wish," he said politely; he knew the limits of his demands upon her.  


  
"You desire another woman in your life?"  


  
"Oh, Teyla, you know better," he said, resting his hand on her face, one thumb stroking her lips. She kissed his thumb, sighed, closed her eyes.  


  
He rolled forward to kiss her gently, then released her. She was retreating within herself as he watched; tired, no doubt, from her travels through the rain and mud, and perhaps from her climax. But he missed her, longed for her attention. He sighed, moved closer to her, and shut his eyes.  


  
He was nearly asleep when he heard her whisper, "A little sister would be good for all of us."  


  
He smiled.


	7. Searchlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story a day for the month of January, 2009 (with three exceptions). Each day's story is posted as a chapter, but they are unrelated to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evan Lorne; Radek Zelenka.

"Fucking hell," Evan muttered, glad no one was around to hear him. "Just Jesus fucking Christ hell."   


  
He wasn't really mad at Sheppard; Sheppard was hard to be mad at for long. Threw his life away too often for others to stay mad at, and he did far more of the required paperwork than scuttlebutt had it, and he had a sense of humor, and --  


  
"Fuck!" Evan repeated. Okay, he could stay mad at Sheppard for fifteen minutes, he was sure.   


  
"This is bad time?" Radek asked. hesitating at the door to Evan's office.  


  
"No, come in." Evan stood up and stretched. "Or I'll come out. Want some coffee or something?"  


  
"Or something," Radek said. "Come with me. A walk will do you good."  


  
"Yeah." He shook his head at himself and followed Radek down the corridor. "Where we going?"  


  
"First for some fresh air, so I think the nearest balcony. There you will explain why you are swearing to yourself."  


  
Evan was silent when they reached the balcony, a small one he often retreated to because it was near his office and on the windward side of Atlantis. He went straight to the railing and rested his elbows on it, looking at the curve of the horizon. As high as they were, higher than the Sears Tower by quite a lot, he could see many miles, but what he loved about this planet was that there was nothing but ocean to see. He took a deep breath of the clean and sea-scented air, held it, and released it gradually.   


  
He already felt better when Radek put his hand on Evan's shoulder. Radek didn't ask, but Evan said, "It's just that Sheppard's off world again. I'd been planning to go to MKZ-738 to help with the planting; Parrish and Kiang are anxious to get there."  


  
"You wished to go also?"  


  
"I know it's petty," Evan said. "It's ridiculous. But yeah, I did. I felt like getting out, helping with the plowing, all that. Parrish is a hoot when he gets involved in stuff like that and even Kiang isn't bad if you can keep her from lecturing you. And I like the folks on 738."  


  
Radek nodded. "I understand," he said, and hesitated.  


  
"Yeah, I bet. Rodney's brilliant, but he's a huge pain in the ass."  


  
"Huger than the colonel," Radek said, and Evan saw he was grinning.  


  
"So you're saying your boss is a bigger pain in the ass than my boss? That a bet?"  


  
"One I will win," Radek said.  


  
"Yup," Evan agreed. "Not going to go there." He did feel better. The fresh air, joking with Radek, even lame jokes about their bosses, had helped. "Listen, do you really have a still?"  


  
"What?" Radek made a face. "I have heard that ever since we got to Atlantis. Just because I am eastern European, I must have a still. Ha! No, I do not make alcohol on the sly, Evan. Why? Do you wish to get drunk?"  


  
"No, well, yeah, actually, a dram of something would be sweet, but I was just curious. You're right: everyone thinks you have a still somewhere."  


  
"Hmph." Then Radek grinned. "I do make my own yogurt."  


  
"Yogurt."  


  
"Yes, very good yogurt. But that is not as exciting as alcohol, I know."  


  
"Yogurt."  


  
"I will not offer you any yogurt. But a bottle of beer, perhaps? Over dinner?"  


  
"One beer I could do," Evan said. "Thanks, Radek. It might be late, though; I have a lot to do."  


  
"Whenever," Radek said. They turned to go back inside. "First, though, I do need your assistance in the jumper bay. Are you too busy now? We can schedule a time later."  


  
"No, now's fine."   


  
Sheppard and his team were in the jumper bay when Evan and Radek stepped out of the transporter. "Sir," he greeted Sheppard. "Flight plan on file with Chuck?"  


  
"Yes, Major," Sheppard said.  


  
Rodney snapped his fingers at Sheppard. "Come on, don't dally."  


  
Sheppard rolled his eyes but obediently climbed into the jumper with the others. "Take care of Atlantis!" he called back to Evan.  


  
"Will do, sir," Evan said. He watched the jumper light up, listened for its almost imperceptible hum, felt the static charge as it rose. The jumper bay doors opened and Evan felt the cool air pour in smelling of the ocean, and then Sheppard's jumper disappeared into the evening. "Well," he said at last.  


  
"Yes, now, let us look at this jumper -- that nice lady from South Africa reported that the beacon and navigation lights were flickering. No problem flying, no stalling, nothing else, just the lights."  


  
"Electrical system off?" Evan asked.  


  
"We shall see. Now, if you would be so kind?"  


  
Evan seated himself, initiated the jumper, and turned on the lights. "Searchlight, too?"  


  
"Please," Radek said. He remained outside, slowing walking around the jumper.   


  
"Cabin lights are flickering," Evan shouted. He shut off the searchlight; it was a thirty million candlepower NiteSun they'd installed. Radek stuck his head in the back of the jumper. "Was she using the NiteSun?"  


  
Radek shrugged. "I will find out. For now, you are free."  


  
Evan slid out of the seat and jumped past Radek. "Good. Let me know if you need more help. Bet it's a wonky connection to the NiteSun, though."  


  
"Yes, we must jury-rig so much of our equipment. I am surprised not to have more problems." He sighed. "Thank you, Evan."  


  
"No prob. We still on for dinner?"  


  
" _Ano_. I will call when I am free."  


  
Evan nodded and left, deciding to walk back to his office. He felt much better than he had, even if Sheppard had buggered off. Well, there would be other times to help with the planting. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe Radek would want to go.


	8. Brána

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story a day for the month of January, 2009 (with three exceptions). Each day's story is posted as a chapter, but they are unrelated to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Radek Zelenka.

A little known fact about Radek Zelenka is that prior to joining the Stargate program, he worked as an associate professor at a public university in southern California. He had been approached by the SGC a few times, but he had no desire to work for the military, not after his experiences in the former Czechoslovakia. Military service had been mandatory and he was from a poor family so, despite his brilliance, he had had no way to avoid two years of misery. No more, he swore to himself, and fled to the United States, and to sunny and warm California.  


  
Southern California was exactly what he expected in many ways: long summery days for most of the year, full of beautiful men and women, lots of automobiles, lots of smog, and miles and miles of sandy beaches. He bought himself a used Datsun 720 pickup, orange, and would drive out to Long Beach and Seal Beach, where he'd sit in the sand and watch the surfers and windsurfers. On especially warm days, he'd try to body surf, but mostly he liked to sit or lie on the sand. Such luxury always available, for the beaches were public property. No one could take away his right to be there, day or night.  


  
Teaching he didn't enjoy as much. The school was large, and any large bureaucracy had its problems. So many rules and regulations to learn and follow, and as junior faculty, he had to balance teaching, committee work, community service, and original research -- and he had to publish. RTP -- retention, tenure, and promotion -- took a lot of his time and energy in itself, too, pulling together papers and letters and documenting his time on his many responsibilities.   


  
Short of room in the physics building, his department gave him an office on the third floor of a newish building constructed on what was called lower campus -- lower because it really was lower in elevation than most of the campus. He had to climb a steep hill or hike up a long flight of stairs to reach an elevator to take him to upper campus and his classrooms. He told himself that was good exercise and tried not to mind, but it was a daily annoyance to haul his books and notes back and forth.  


  
Still, he counted his blessings: a job in his field, the opportunity to do real research, a well-equipped lab (on upper campus, of course), two or three promising students, and the nearby beaches let him ignore how lonely he was. His research into generating, storing, entangling, and manipulating single photon states was, to use a common cliché, cutting edge, but he was also moving away from his department's strengths. If he made some remarkable discovery or patented a process, he'd be promoted. If not, then no matter how fascinating he found his work, he might not be granted tenure. Then he'd have to start all over somewhere else.  


  
A very pretty woman from the SGC had come to see him just the week before, enticing him with her deep understanding of the work he was doing and offering the opportunity to continue his work. But she had been dressed in a military uniform, dark blue, and no matter how lovely her face, he was a little afraid of her.  


  
He sat at his desk in his office on lower campus and brooded, looking out the odd-shaped window. His office was in a corner at the end of a long corridor; he was isolated from his colleagues down here. He'd been promised a new office in the physics building at the start of the next academic year, but that was months away. In the meantime, he tried to ignore the sterility and blandness of the concrete cube in which he was housed. At least there was lots of sunshine.  


  
His watch chimed, reminding him that he had to climb the hill to his next class. He piled the textbook and his notepad plus a handful of Sharpies into his shabby briefcase and grabbed the doorknob to leave. First to the men's room, he thought, and then up the hill, but the door wouldn't budge.  


  
He set everything down and grasped the doorknob with both hands. The knob twisted, the door moved a tiny bit back and forth, and there was a slight grinding sound, but other than that, nothing. The door opened inwards, so he couldn't use his weight to push against it, and pulling was difficult. The handle was small, but he grabbed and tugged, bracing his feet as best he could.  


  
He was sweating by the time he admitted to himself that he was well and truly stuck in his office. "Krávo zasraná," he puffed, and kicked the door. "Ty čuráku!" He wiped his hands on his jeans, took a deep breath, and tried again, twisting and pulling the knob until he thought his head would explode. "Hovno," he said, sitting down.  


  
Radek called the physics department secretary, an older woman named Peggy. "I am stuck," he said, almost shouting. "In my office, stuck! I have class!"  


  
"Oh dear," she said. "I'll call Facilities and ask them to send a locksmith out."  


  
"My class, someone must tell my class," he said.  


  
"Yes, of course. What should I tell them?"  


  
He thought for a moment. "Not to waste this time. To do the reading they were supposed to do but which I know they did not. Tell them there will be a test next class."  


  
"All right. I'll call you as soon as I know anything, Radek."  


  
"Thank you, Peggy," he made himself say, though he was burning with anxiety and energy. He felt he could fly up the hill if he could only get out of the office. He tugged at the door more, and then studied it. Breathing deeply, he tried to calm himself, to think. Not a locksmith, he realized. The lock was fine. The door itself was wrong. He was sealed in.  


  
For a moment he panicked, grabbing his head, then pacing wildly in his little office. The window didn't open because there was air conditioning, but he supposed he could kick it out. But there was no balcony, no emergency stairs. He would have to jump three stories. He didn't think he could do that.  


  
He paced more, until the phone rang; Peggy telling him that someone was on his way. "They know all about it," she said, interrupting his explanation. "You just wait there."  


  
"As if I could not wait here!" he shouted, but only after hanging up. No need to antagonize Peggy. She was an important ally in this RTP process.  


  
He paced more, then did some pushups, then jogged in place. He needed to get out, to move. Once he got out, he'd go running at Seal Beach, maybe body surf.   


  
Nearly thirty minutes passed before someone knocked at his door. "Doctor Zelenka? This is Ron from Facilities Services."

"Ron! I am so glad! The door is stuck. The lock is fine, the knob is fine, but the door itself -- it will not open."  


  
"Yeah, that happens."  


  
"What? What happens?" He pressed against the door to better hear Ron.  


  
"This building is sinking. We sitting right on the water table; that's why they have to keep pumps going all the time in the basement."  


  
"Who would build on, on water table?" he asked.  


  
"Okay, I'm gonna get you out of there, but it'll take a while. You just sit tight."  


  
"Ron, wait --" but Ron was already gone, who knew where, and Radek was alone in his office, unable to escape.  


  
After swearing loudly for a minute or two, and giving the obstinant door a final firm kick, he collapsed in his uncomfortable chair and stared at the calculations he'd been working on. He should use this time to continue, but it was the last thing he felt like doing. Instead, he decided to tidy his desk, sort papers into piles, make a to-do list. As he flipped through the detritus that had built up over the semester, a letterhead caught his eye. _Květnatý_ , he thought. He held the letter in his hand, tapping his thumb against it.  


  
 _SGC_ it proclaimed in gaudy gold, with stylized wings on either side of what might be an upper case A minus the crossbar. He had no idea. The letter was signed by a Major S. Carter, Ph.D., and was the third such communication Radek had received from him. In Colorado, which was far from Seal Beach so no body surfing there. But maybe he'd have an office with a window that opened and a door that worked; maybe he wouldn't be housed in a building sinking into the water table. The young woman who had come to see him had been very pretty. Maybe the military here was different.  


  
Impulsively, he picked up the phone. He would charge the long distance call to the university. They could bill him.


	9. Let the Living Creature Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story a day for the month of January, 2009 (with three exceptions). Each day's story is posted as a chapter, but they are unrelated to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ronon Dex.

Ronon still ran in his dreams some nights, waking to find himself standing, ready to flee his quarters. His heart pounding, hair sticky with sweat, gulping for air, he'd pull on his boots and leave for a run through the city. Sometimes he met Sheppard wandering the corridors, and sometimes, though rarely, Sheppard would join him in his runs. But Sheppard had his own _daiesthai_ to battle. Ronon recognized them in Sheppard's face when they'd first met, and he respected Sheppard's need to struggle with them.  


  
He'd return to his quarters in the early hours, shower, and then -- if he was lucky -- sleep another hour or two before rising to meet his team for breakfast. If there was no off-world mission, he would train with Sheppard's warriors, teaching them the martial arts of Sateda and learning their weapons. He liked being with them; they were young and raucous and reminded him very much of the men and women he'd served with.  


  
After lunch, usually taken with the warriors he trained with, he'd study, reciting aloud first the alphabet, then lists of words, and finally books that Elizabeth organized for him. She had him write Satedan script, anything he wanted, so he wrote everything he could remember: rhymes his _abba_ had chanted with him, the mnemonics from school, songs from the chorus he'd sung in before his voice broke.  


  
Then Elizabeth died, and he stopped writing for a long time. He continued reciting aloud, though, occasionally annoying the Atlantians who for some reason believed it preferable to read silently. Ronon recited loudly so Elizabeth could still hear him, no matter where she was. Every afternoon that he could, he spent time in his quarters reading to her.  


  
Carter's not bad, but he resented having to prove himself to her. Sheppard and Elizabeth accepted him; that should be enough. But he remembered working in a bureaucracy and then in the military, so he kept his mouth shut and let Rodney gripe on his behalf. He watched Rodney with Carter, but despite having to listen to him rave about her the entire time that Ronon had known Rodney, he proved remarkably mild around her. Atlantis had changed him, Ronon decided.  


  
When Carter finally gave the go-ahead for him and Teyla to rejoin their team, he practically leapt through the stargate. Now he was part of something larger, and venturing through the gate part of his new routine. This time, as always, he heard Rodney complaining, and Sheppard and Teyla laughing. This was what Sheppard called a milk run, a visit to old friends of Teyla's, and now friends to Atlantis. And Ronon, he knew, was now of Atlantis.  


  
His first step on the other side of the gate he stumbled when his heel hit the ground, torquing his body around to keep his balance. The air stank of hot metal and blood; his boots slipped in the mess and he discovered he was walking on bodies.  


  
"Shit," Sheppard said, and all four of them crouched, even Rodney. "Ronon?"  


  
"Nothing," he replied, staring around.  


  
"We need to get out of here," Rodney said urgently.  


  
"We need to investigate," Sheppard said, and led them to the treeline, about fifty _metiri_ from the stargate. They stayed low, but it was awkward; they had to navigate through the bodies strewn around the gate, not just in the splash zone but all around it, even behind it. The trees circling the meadow the gate stood in were tall evergreens with thick foliage that grew near the ground in a tangled snarl. They made it there safely, ducking beneath the entwined branches. The air was fresher there, but a metallic tang still filled the air.  


  
"Rodney," Sheppard asked when they'd turned to study the meadow.  


  
Rodney was staring at his blood-soaked cuff; Ronon saw he was trembling. He put his hand on the back of Rodney's neck. "Don't look," he said quietly. Rodney swallowed, nodded, and pulled out the little life signs detector. After a moment, he said, "That way. Toward the village. Maybe a half-dozen."  


  
"Who would do such a thing?" Teyla asked. Her face was tense, her muscles tight, and Ronon knew she was angry.  


  
"Not Wraith," Sheppard said. "Let's go see who."  


  
"Fuck," Rodney whispered. Rodney put his hand on Ronon's where it rested on his neck, and then they rose and moved out. Ronon let Sheppard take point; he followed, watching both Teyla and Rodney. These bodies had once been friends of Teyla's; he had danced the _stitium_ with them only a few months ago. He'd watched Sheppard and Rodney share mugs of ale and help build the bonfire. Now they lay scattered like trash.  


  
"Coming up on them," Rodney whispered, tugging at Sheppard's vest. They all knelt in the grass, off the trail to the village.  


  
"Get down," Ronon ordered, pushing on Rodney's back; he heard footsteps, heavy and careless. All four of them lay silently, weapons at the ready. The grass swayed in a warm breeze, and in the distance, birds cried to each other.  


  
Someone was coming. Just one, Ronon thought. When the wind stirred the grass, he slithered closer to the path. He wrapped his hand around Sheppard's ankle; without looking at him, Sheppard nodded. Whoever was coming was Ronon's.  


  
The wind pushed the grasses over them again, harder; nature conspired with them, letting him crawl even closer to the trail, and now he could see motion. A big man, with big heavy feet, careless. He stank of drink and sweat and blood. Ronon let him pass and then leapt out, seizing him by the throat and dragging him back into the grass. Sheppard had a gun to the man's head who stared at Ronon, face red from lack of oxygen. "Who are you?" Sheppard demanded, but Ronon didn't let him speak. While the others watched, he increased the pressure on the man's neck, lying on top of him as he writhed. "Ronon," Sheppard said, but Rodney put his hands over Ronon's and pressed. "McKay!"  


  
They killed him silently. When he was dead, Rodney examined his clothing, looking in the pouch he'd carried. He pulled out a loaf of bread wrapped in cloth, a hard salami, dry cheese, underclothing. "He killed those people for this?" Rodney asked Ronon in disbelief.  


  
He shrugged. "Maybe. Let's go."  


  
They moved on, beside the trail, past the barns where the _scafe_ clustered, nibbling at the grass poking through the fence. From the side of the barn they could see six men. The village had been trashed: windows and doors smashed in, possessions dragged from the houses into the street. There were more bodies but not, Ronon saw, the entire town. They must have had time to escape into the forest that pressed against the village. He took a deep breath, grateful that some had lived.  


  
Suddenly Teyla rose and walked swiftly toward the men. Sheppard grabbed at her, but she eluded him gracefully. She carried the Atlantian weapon strapped to her body, not pointing it at the men, but accessible. Ronon grinned fiercely; he loved her more than ever. Without speaking, she approached the men, who began to call to her.  


  
"They'll kill her," Rodney whispered.  


  
"Not her," Sheppard said. They watched as she kept the men from surrounding her, drawing one out. He held out his empty hands, trying to coax her closer. She stopped moving. For a moment, nothing moved but the grass, and then Teyla kicked out, a roundhouse kick with all her strength behind it, and knocked the man a dozen _mentiri_ , his face and ear bloody. He roared, clutching his head.  


  
None of the others came to his aid. Before they could start toward Teyla, Ronon and Sheppard were running full tilt toward them, firing their weapons. Teyla dropped to the ground and rolled into a ditch by the side of the main street through the village, disappearing as if the earth had eaten her.  


  
The air smelled of ale and Sheppard's weapon; they'd dropped all five men before they reached Teyla's hiding place.  


  
"Oh, god, Teyla, are you all right?" Rodney cried, helping her up. "Are you crazy? You're crazy to do that."  


  
She held Rodney's head still, then rested her forehead against his. He sighed, and embraced her; Ronon heard him whisper something to her.  


  
Sheppard yelled, "Leader Anjus! Anjus! Are you there?" He walked through the village toward the wall of trees. "Anjus!"  


  
Ronon heard someone groan behind him, and turned to see the man Teyla had kicked trying to stand up. He was on his knees, his head resting on the ground, blood matting his long hair. Ronon squatted next to him. "Why'd you do it?"  


  
"Fuck you."  


  
Ronon shoved him so he fell onto his side. Teyla's boot heel had caught his temple right by his eye; Ronon could see the print. "Why?"  


  
"S'what we do," he muttered. He rubbed his head, his face, his chest, and pulled out some kind of weapon that glittered in his hand. Then his head exploded. Ronon jumped back, straight from his knees to his feet, and kicked away the man's weapon even though there was no chance now that he could use it.  


  
"That was very good, Rodney," Teyla said.  


  
Rodney stood motionless, staring at the mess on the ground. He made a funny noise in his throat. Teyla gently took his weapon. Ronon pulled Rodney into his arms, and felt Teyla press against him, felt her small hand against his back. Rodney shook hard, then took a deep breath. His face was red when he pulled back to look at them. "I'd do anything for you," he whispered, "all of you, anything."  


  
"We know," Ronon said, and kissed the top of his head.  


  
Sheppard returned, the villagers following him. Many were crying, looking around them as if just woken from a nightmare. Leader Anjus was holding Sheppard's sleeve, dark face grey in the brilliant sunshine. Birds still called in the distance, the breeze still played over the grassy meadow, changing the color from green to yellow to olive. A small dog rushed to Ronon's feet and sniffed his boots excitedly, then the dead man behind him.  


  
"Thank you," Anjus said. "Sister Teyla, thank you, John of Atlantis, how can we thank you?"  


  
"We'll help you clean up," Sheppard said. "Teyla, Rodney, help them get the stuff out of the street. Ronon and I will, uh, we'll take care of the rest."  


  
"No," Rodney said. "No, we'll all take care of the rest." He wiped his face with his sleeve, adjusted his weapon, and then grabbed the dead man's boots. "Shoo," he said to the dog, and began to drag the man away from the village. Ronon helped.  


  
"Ancestors," Anjus said faintly.  


  
"We will do this thing," Teyla said. "You take care of your people."  


  
They dragged all the men -- although one of them turned out to be a woman -- deep into the meadow, to where the _stitium_ bonfire had been, piled them atop each other, and then set them ablaze. Rodney threw up a little, and Sheppard's white face was paler than Ronon had ever seen it before, but they waited until the bodies had burned down to bones and ashes before returning to the village. It was deep night by then, and they still had the villagers who'd been killed by the stargate to take care of. They would be buried properly, Anjus said, so they hitched up two _scafe_ to a cart and brought the bodies back to the village center where the remains could be washed. Sheppard threw up that time, and Ronon felt his gorge rise, but it had to be done.  


  
It was very late before Ronon and his team could throw themselves onto the sweet hay in the barn and rest; so late that it was early. This was the time he would often return from his runs through Atlantis, and he felt as exhausted as if he'd run the perimeter of the great city. He wanted a bath, but was too tired.  


  
They lay huddled together in the warm night, Rodney complaining, not very convincingly, that the hay was poking him. Sheppard began to snore almost instantly; Teyla dropped off next, and then Rodney, though he jerked and started awake two or three times before sleep truly took him.  


  
Then only Ronon lay awake in the barn. He could hear the _scafe_ making their dozy noises, saw a barn cat slip into the night, heard a bird hunting. His eyes closed. The little dog trotted into the barn, turned three times in a circle, settled by his hip, sighed, and slept.  


  
Ronon turned his head to watch his teammates. Only starlight fell into the barn, barely enough to make out their profiles, but he knew them by their scent, by their breathing. He'd watch over them tonight. He could sleep when he was dead.  


  
He stretched, feeling the ache in his muscles from all the work he'd done that day. If he were alone now, he'd probably go for a slow run to stretch out his muscles, and then retreat to his favorite balcony, the highest one he could get to, and recite to Elizabeth's spirit. He flipped through the stories and histories, both Satedan and Atlantian, before remembering one of the books that Elizabeth had given him, about a terrible journey barely survived.  


  
While he watched them he recited, as quietly as the barn cat's tread, no louder than a breath:  


  
 _Lay your sleeping head, my love,  
Human on my faithless arm;  
Time and fevers burn away  
Individual beauty from  
Thoughtful children, and the grave  
Proves the child ephemeral:  
But in my arms till break of day  
Let the living creature lie,  
Mortal, guilty, but to me  
The entirely beautiful._   


  
Unwillingly, Ronon slept, and in his sleep he dreamt of running, running with his team through endless meadows of soft grasses parting before them in a warm and welcoming breeze.


	10. Heisenberg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story a day for the month of January, 2009 (with three exceptions). Each day's story is posted as a chapter, but they are unrelated to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rodney McKay.

Rodney is a bit chagrined to realize that he cannot pinpoint a specific moment, cannot isolate the precise instant that everything changed. _Heisenberg uncertainty principle_ , he tells himself sardonically; he hates how inaccurately that term is used, but yes, he admits, the colloquial sense does work in this case.  


  
 _It is impossible to discern simultaneously and with high accuracy both the position and the momentum of a particle_ , and that was correct, in that he was certain he knew his position but not his momentum. Or perhaps he did know his momentum -- very high speed -- but not his precise position. How irritating, not to know; he was not a particle, after all. He was an extremely intelligent man working at the peak of his abilities, flourishing professionally; he had truly thought he was beyond -- no, that he was above -- all this psychological mumbo-jumbo.  


  
He stands in his lab, surrounded by colleagues, people whom he only jokingly refers to as minions but whom he privately thinks of as the engines that drive his labs. They're all busy, working hard, focusing on their projects, trash talking their colleagues at impromptu meetings that result in whiteboards covered in equations and, like just now, someone scurrying off to start crunching numbers. No scientist works alone; books, journals, discussions, meetings, and working in big labs like this keep science moving. Rodney knows that and appreciates it, but this problem is something he will not share with the others; this is something he needs to figure out by himself.  


  
Radek meets his eyes briefly, and they've worked together long enough that Rodney nods to indicate he's fine, that he doesn't need anything, and Radek turns back to his laptop, peering over his glasses and rubbing his forehead. Rodney smells coffee and sees that Mirsky has made a new pot; he's scrubbing the counter around the coffeemaker while the coffee drips into the carafe. Mirskey is the one who sends emails once a month warning that he's going to throw out every bit of food in the lab refrigerator, and once posted a sign above the sink that said _I am not yo mama_. Of course, all that resulted in was a new nickname for him, Mama Mirsky. But he never gives up.  


  
Rodney shakes his head and picks up his own mug to wash before enjoying the fruits of Mirsky's labor. He'd had a professor in his undergrad days who never washed his coffee cup. Over the course of the semester, Rodney and the other students had watched in disturbed amazement as the cup, originally a plain white one, grew greener and blotchier. No doubt as a result of that experience, he never teased Mirsky the way the others did; _sit mens sana in corpore sano_ , indeed.  


  
Coffee steaming in his mug, he meanders through the lab, peering over his colleagues shoulders. They were accustomed to his behavior, what Kavanagh likes to call management by walking around, but Rodney doesn't think of it as managing. He occasionally has insights into his own work by looking at others', and can often make contributions to theirs. He has a certain reputation to maintain, so when he sees something off, he never fails to point it out as loudly as he can. He enjoys the cathartic experience.  


  
He ends up near the door, and just keeps going: down the corridor, around the corner, through doors that retract as he nears, and then onto the long outer passageway that winds around the exterior of this level of Atlantis. It's windy today, and there's a thin layer of clouds overhead, merging with the sea at the horizon, two symbols of infinity, and what is infinity doubled? Infinity still and always.  


  
How did he not know? How long has he not known? And most importantly, how will this new knowledge change him, his life, everything? Something known cannot be unknown. He laughs quietly at himself. He doesn't want to unknow it.  


  
He sips his coffee. He watches the clouds. And when he hears quiet footsteps, he smiles.  


  
"Hey," John says, settling next to Rodney. They stand quietly for a moment, then John takes the mug and finishes the coffee; they like it the same way.  


  
"Hey," Rodney finally says. "I, uh, figured something out. About myself."  


  
"Yeah? That a good thing?"  


  
"Could be."  


  
Rodney sees from the corner of his eye John nod. "Could be, yeah," John says, but he's grinning, that asshole. Rodney elbows him, and John elbows him back, and then they're learning against each other, still watching the ocean and the sky. "So. Now that you figured it out, you gonna do anything about it? Act on your knowledge?"  


  
"Ha." Rodney sets the empty mug down on the floor, then faces John. "Depends on you, I guess."  


  
"Me, huh?" Their stomachs touch, John's black tee shirt and Rodney's grey, and Rodney shivers. "It's all up to me?" John asks, his voice soft and lazy.  


  
"Not all," Rodney says softly, swaying closer. He can't stop smiling.  


  
"Genius," John says, tilting his head just so.  


  
"Yeah, well," but Rodney doesn't want to talk anymore, and their lips touch. He grabs John, who grabs him back, and they kiss, break apart to gasp and laugh and stare at each other, and Rodney thinks he's pretty certain now.


	11. Stonehenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story a day for the month of January, 2009 (with three exceptions). Each day's story is posted as a chapter, but they are unrelated to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rodney McKay, John Sheppard, Teyla Emmagan, Ronon Dex.

"What is it?" John asked, raising his sunglasses.  


  
"Big stones," Ronon commented, walking around them.  


  
"I have not heard of these monuments," Teyla said. She stood firmly, head raised, staring at them.  


  
"Oh my god, I suppose we'll have to bring Daniel Jackson with us," Rodney said, also staring at them. "Well, let me get some pictures of the damn things." He drew out his digital camera and began snapping wildly, mouth pulled down. "Archaeologists," he muttered as he clicked away.  


  
Teyla remained stiff and stayed back. John and Ronon continued to walk around and through the standing stones, though not under the capstones. "Do you hear that?" John asked Ronon, who was frowning. Ronon nodded. John set his hand flat against one of the stones. Dull grey with tiny flecks of black and silver, the stone was cold, rough, hard. He thought he could smell it, or something, like icy water brought up from a deep well. He didn't like it.  


  
He backed away until he stood next to Teyla. Unusually for her, she stepped closer to him until their arms brushed. He immediately felt more relaxed and assured. "Come away," Teyla called to Ronon. He continued to study the stones, bending nearer to them. Rodney circled them, complaining when the low sun got into his camera.   


  
John glanced away from the stones toward the setting sun; it had slid beneath the heavy cloud cover and hovered just above the mountain range far from them. The sun splintered into a half-dozen slices of molten yellow as it sank behind the mountain peaks, tinting the clouds salmon, peach, pink, and the palest yellow. He looked back at the stones and saw their shadows stretching out, a jagged tooth pattern on the flat plain upon which they stood. The angle of the sun picked out glints of brassy yellow: fool's gold. Rodney's and Ronon's shadows wavered across the ground as they circled the stones; their shadows merged and cross and merge again, disappearing and reappearing from the shadows of the stones.  


  
The shadows grew longer. The atmosphere took on a yellowish green color, the temperature dropped abruptly, and Teyla shivered as if someone had walked on her grave. John said, "Let's go," his voice harsh in the thin air.  


  
"Ronon," Teyla called. "Rodney."  


  
The two men looked up at Teyla and John, then at each other. Ronon came first, his face unusually thoughtful, a frown drawing together his thick brows. "Weird," he said.  


  
"Rodney," John said sharply.  


  
Rodney stood for a long moment, camera still in one hand but the other hand traced the rough edge of one of the stones. Shafts of sunlight fell in long pools of brilliance and John thought he saw Rodney waver, just as the shadows did. He felt a peculiar reluctance to approach the stones but forced himself toward them to drag Rodney away, but Rodney finally detached from them and came to John, walking swiftly, nearly running. "We should go," he said, and pulled John by the sleeve, herding Ronon and Teyla ahead of them. "Come on, things to do, dinner's waiting."  


  
John didn't complain or demand an explanation; he followed Rodney and made sure they made it back to the DHD in one piece. Rodney punched in the code for Atlantis without waiting for instructions, and fidgeted in place while the gate opened and its vortex splashed out, the familiar blue light a comfort in the steadily darker greenish light of this planet.  


  
They met in Carter's office; Rodney had brought two archaeologists with him to the meeting. He showed them the pictures, but John didn't think they captured the essence of that place. "Weird," Ronon had said again.  


  
Teyla said, "The atmosphere was unpleasant. Perhaps something in it? But I felt no Wraith there."  


  
"No Ancienty stuff, either," John added, looking at the images on his laptop as Rodney clicked through them. In several, Rodney had caught John or Teyla and both wore identical frowns; they looked concerned and uncomfortable. "Not a good place for trade," he said, glad it was true. He didn't want to go back and he didn't want to send anyone else there.  


  
"Perhaps a brief visit?" One of the archaeologists suggested. Stojanowski, John remembered. "With appropriate military escorts, of course," he added, glancing at John.  


  
"For what purpose?" Rodney asked sharply, and John remembered how Rodney had hurried them away from the stones and back to Atlantis.  


  
"You say neither Wraith nor Ancient," the other guy said. John wasn't sure of his name. "We know there were other, earlier cultures in this galaxy. Maybe this site is the remains of one."  


  
Carter said, "Colonel Sheppard and I will review the current projects and staffing. If there's an opportunity, we'll arrange for a few hours study of the orthostats."   


  
John raised his eyebrows, then remembered that Carter had worked with Daniel Jackson for a decade; of course she knew some archaeology. Stojanowski and the other guy exchanged glances, clearly not thrilled, but something was better than nothing. A few minutes more and he could leave.  


  
He followed his team out of the office, where they stood together. "Dinner?" Rodney suggested, and they wandered toward the transporter that would take them to the mess hall. John felt oddly reluctant to part from them. After they were settled at their usual table, Rodney said, "Did you hear anything? On that planet? From the stones maybe?"  


  
"Yeah," John said. He was unhappy at the memory.  


  
"It was a bad place," Ronon said, and stabbed his meat.  


  
For a while they ate in silence, and maybe John had just needed some food because he started to feel better. He said, "Is that possible? Bad places?"  


  
Rodney didn't respond with his usual sarcastic excoriation, just prodded at the remaining mashed potatoes on his plate. Teyla answered. "I believe there are such places," she said carefully. She set down her silverware and interlaced her fingers. "Where something terrible has happened, a great tragedy. A great evil."  


  
"Yeah," Ronon said. "On Sateda, after the second great Wraith war, there was a city, a capital of one of the provinces. Everybody left. They made a new city across the river. I went there once with a bunch of friends. We got drunk and made a stupid bet." He fell silent.  


  
"I gave a paper at a physics conference in Trieste," Rodney said quietly. "I met someone from Zagreb, and, uh, impulsively went there. It's a long story, but I ended up in Srebrenica. So, yeah. I think there are, uh, bad places."  


  
John felt no desire to describe the evil places he had been. He just said, "Yeah, me, too."  


  
Rodney sat up suddenly, and wiped his hands on a napkin. He said, "I downloaded the latest Doctor Who. Anybody want to see it?"  


  
"Guy in the blue box?" Ronon asked. "Yeah. I like the noises it makes. Reminds me of the _basham_."  


  
Teyla laughed. "It does! When the --" she gestured with her hand, "and when --"  


  
"Yeah, in a high wind." They grinned at each other.   


  
"John?" Rodney asked. He looked hopeful.  


  
"Sure," John said, flooded with relief that he didn't have to go home alone. "Who's the companion? Another blonde? Or that guy?"  


  
"I said it was the new one, so I don't know. We'll have to find out. And what's a _basham_ , anyway?" he asked, rising to bus his tray. John followed his team as Teyla and Ronon tried to explain some kind of mechanical tree that was popular with kids, or something; John wasn't sure he grasped the details of the _basham_.  


  
Crowded together in Rodney's quarters, sitting more closely than usual, John began to relax. Rodney collapsed next to him on the bed, tilting into John. Teyla sat on the floor on cushions Rodney kept just for her; glancing up at John, she settled against his legs, one arm draped around Ronon who, as usual, lay flat on the floor, this time with his head in her lap. As the familiar music whined, John shuddered, and scooted closer to Rodney.  


  
"This isn't a bad place," Rodney said abruptly, and turned pink. Teyla tilted her head back to smile at him, and Ronon reached up with a long arm to joggle Rodney's knee. John, hesitant and uncomfortable, scooted even closer, until they pressed together from hip to shoulder. He felt warmer, huddled there in front of the blue light of Rodney's laptop, his team surrounding him. Not a bad place at all.


	12. The Long Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story a day for the month of January, 2009 (with three exceptions). Each day's story is posted as a chapter, but they are unrelated to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Radek Zelenka.

"It's ridiculous," Rodney said, but he couldn't stop looking. Radek stood quietly, watching Rodney, unmoved by Rodney's words. "You have real work, Radek. "I don't understand why you're spending your time on this -- and it better be your spare time."  


  
When Rodney wound down, Radek took a sip of his coffee, now lukewarm, and waited confident Rodney had more to say, which he did. Radek had learned to pay attention not to Rodney's words nor to his tone -- especially not to his rone. Radek heard something else when Rodney railed like this. He heard: don't outshine me, don't surpass my achievements, don't reveal my inadequacies. Though Radek knew everyone experienced self-doubt and dark nights, he'd never known anyone who was as willing to bare his fears as Rodney; it was a kind of courage in its own way.  


  
He realized that Rodney had wound himself up again. "And why a clock? I've never seen a clock like that, why on Earth -- well, on Atlantis -- would you declare it a clock?"  


  
Radek let him continue; like a clock, he'd wind himself back down, see something intriguing, go after it, and he knew that would take Rodney's attention away from his irritation and that soon, he too would be studying the clock.  


  
If it was a clock. They had stumbled upon it clearing out one of the high towers of Atlantis. The database indicated that there had been a medical facility there, and in the hopes of finding new and usable equipment, the Marines, two biologists, a chemist, and a materials engineer had been carefully sorting through the top floors. The materials engineer had discovered this artifact. Radek had named it a clock.  


  
He wasn't sure why. He'd been studying it for two days now, ever since he'd been brought to the tower to see it. The object was tall, taller than he was, made of a series of notched plates, each about the thickness of a human hair yet harder than rhenium diboride. He'd already calculated its valence electron density as 489 electronics/nm3. Each plate or disk was separated from the plates above and below it by a much smaller plate about half a millimeter, like washers. The larger plates were just over a meter in diameter, and today he had discovered that they had something microetched into them. He'd been studying the microetching when Rodney had come in.  


  
"This is interesting," Rodney said. Radek smiled to himself and put down his mug.  


  
"Yes, yes, as you see," and he handed Rodney a magnifying glass. They could only study the top and bottom plates, of course, but with the magnifying glass, he could tell that all the plates were etched. "But why the notches?"  


  
Rodney shook his head. "And this was it? Nothing else? It's in situ?"  


  
"Exactly as you see." They stood back and stared at it. "How many thousands of years it has stood here," Radek murmured.   


  
Rodney touched the edge of one of the plates. "Why a clock?" he asked again.  


  
"The notches, of course. Reminds me of the wheels in a wind-up watch: the ratchet wheel, the mainspring barrel, the center wheel pinion gear." He sighed. "Very hard material."  


  
"Yes, I read your email. The microetching is amazingly fine work. Actually, the entire thing is."  


  
"My grandfather repaired clocks," Radek said suddenly, surprising himself. "He would let me watch, but not touch, when I was a little boy."  


  
"So a clock, eh. Hmm. Well, carry on, then." Rodney clapped Radek on the back and left; Radek saw Colonel Sheppard at the entry way, arms crossed. He and Rodney put their heads together as they left.  


  
"So we can study it?" Mischa asked. Mischa-the-chemist, not Mischa-the-Stárshiy leytenánt, who had been up earlier to flirt with Olivie, one of the biologists.  


  
"Apparently so," Radek said. "Don't boil it in acid."  


  
He made a face at Radek. "Of course not. But I do need to test it if we are to learn the composition of its components."  


  
"Tiny, tiny scraping only, Doctor Maiskis," Radek said, and they laughed -- how to make a scraping of something so hard? Not that Mischa actually needed to scrape it.  


  
"Wait, a clock?" Colonel Sheppard had returned. "Rodney said you thought this was a clock?" He studied the object. Rodney stood at the door watching them. The room, though large and well lit, was crowded with large objects of unknown purpose, as well as the personnel working through it, and a small contingent of military men and women to guard the scientists, and to lift and shove things around.  


  
"We do not know," Radek said honestly. "But the parts do move, see?" With the end of a pen, he gently pushed at a notch in one of the mid-level plates; with a barely audible click it moved. Sheppard took the pen from him and tried himself, and then again. He handed the pen back to Radek.  


  
"Okay," he said, almost to himself, and put his hands on the object. He closed his eyes.  


  
No one moved. Radek barely breathed. Sheppard bent his head, his dark hair falling over his forehead. His hands were relaxed, lightly touching the plates. A pale transparent blue expanded from his hands surrounding the clock. Radek heard a soft buzzing, barely audible, and then the plates began to turn.  


  
Rodney was instantly at Sheppard's side and drew him away, pulling his hands back. Sheppard leaned against Rodney as if he were exhausted by a great effort. The plates continued to turn, each at a different rate, slowly clicking off intervals of time. "What's happening?" Mischa whispered to Radek.  


  
"I have no idea," he said.   


  
Sheppard roused, eyes fluttering, and straightened. "It's a timer," he said. " _Vicēes_ , succession -- it should be connected to something that moves the city."  


  
"How do you know?" Radek asked him.  


  
Sheppard shook his head. "Just -- it feels like that."  


  
"Come on," Rodney said firmly, and pulled at Sheppard. The crowd parted for them, some of the new people clearly astonished by what they'd seen. "Lunch, Colonel." They left the room; a few people followed.  


  
Radek turned his attention back to the _Vicēes_. The blue was much paler, nearly invisible, but there was a slight odor, as of ozone. "To move the city," he murmured. Now it was just a trinket, moving nothing. Perhaps one day they'd find the rest of the mechanism. He held his own hand perpendicular to the plates and very near them; he thought he felt something, slightly warm, slightly buzzy, due no doubt to the slight oscillation of the disks. How many millennia had they been waiting for someone with the ATA gene to prime them? How many millennia since they had fallen into stillness?  


  
"We should use IR spectroscopy," Mischa said, and Radek nodded. "Calculate the vibrations."  


  
He dropped his hand. He didn't think they possessed instruments capable of measuring the vibrations that resonated between Colonel Sheppard and Atlantis.   


  
Rodney was a bit like that, he thought later, eating one of the sandwiches that Mischa-the-Stárshiy leytenánt had brought up, no doubt to impress Olivie with his thoughtfulness. Vibrating when the colonel came near him. Radek grinned to himself. Mischa-the-chemist's IR spectroscopy wouldn't be able to calculate that vibrational mode anymore than it would that of the _Vicēes_ , he was sure.


	13. Ring Theory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story a day for the month of January, 2009 (with three exceptions). Each day's story is posted as a chapter, but they are unrelated to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John Sheppard/Rodney McKay.

Suppose 1=0  
Suppose John could do whatever he wanted. Well, technically he already could, pretty much, although there would be consequences to some actions, so suppose John _would_ do whatever he wanted. What, then, would John do?

 _fly for a living; surf all day; learn to speak French; play guitar like Jimi Hendrix; ride horseback every day; plant a garden; learn how to plant a garden; go white-water rafting; take a nap; go wing-suit base jumping; build a home entirely by hand; skateboard; snowboard; heli-ski on PX5-192; hike the Pacific Crest Trail; free the Pegasus galaxy of Wraith; free Alantis from Earth's hold; free Rodney from his self-doubt, from his fears; free himself from all desire_

Suppose 1=1  
"I suppose you have beer?" Rodney asked, flopping down next to John. His shoes and socks were off and his trousers rolled up, so John was treated to the sight of Rodney's very pale feet and bony shins. "I would have brought some, but I figured you would have."  


  
John handed him his can. Rodney looked at it dubiously, and John said, "No backwash."  


  
"It isn't that," Rodney explained, taking the can, wet with condensation. "Just such bad beer." He drank it nonetheless, and John watched him, hiding his amusement at how, despite the badness of the beer, Rodney seemed to be trying to drain the can. He snatched it back before he could, spilling only a little and on Rodney. "Hey!"  


  
"Don't hog it! Just the one can out here, and I don't want to go all the way for more."  


  
"Well, you should think of someone besides yourself then, bring a six pack."  


  
"You could've brought a six pack."  


  
"You always bring a six pack."  


  
"Doesn't mean I'm always gonna bring a six pack. In fact, I think today is pretty clear evidence that I'm not going to always bring a six pack."  


  
"Jerk," Rodney muttered, wiping at the splash on his tee shirt. He pulled it up and sniffed at it.  


  
John took a big drink and handed him the can back. "Kill it, okay? Before you start suckling your shirt."  


  
"Ew," Rodney said, but he finished the beer, then rested the can against his forehead. "Still a little cool."  


  
"We could swim," John said, gesturing toward the faint sound of others splashing in the shallow water between the two piers. He and Rodney were just around the corner, out of sight and almost out of hearing of them.  


  
"Not over there. Ronon wants to play _horse_. Turns out it was a competitive sport on Sateda."  


  
"No horsing around for you?"  


  
"Not that kind." He spread his arms, leaned back, yawned, and stretched; John could hear his back pop. "Oh god. I can't stay in this sun much longer."  


  
"Rodney, your nose is white from zinc oxide; I think you can stay a few minutes more."  


  
Rodney lay back and didn't answer. After a minute, he pulled off his tee shirt, arranged it carefully behind him, and lay back again. "Put sunblock on me, okay?" he said without opening his eyes. "I know you brought some."  


  
John had in fact brought some, a container of Rodney's home-made sunblock that smelled deliciously of cocoa butter, but now that Rodney expected him to have some, he felt reluctant to admit to it. "Get your own damn sunblock," he said. "And your own damn beer, while you're at it." He lay down next to Rodney, pushing his sunglasses up.  


  
Rodney turned his head and squinted at John. "What crawled up your ass?"  


  
"Maybe you did," John muttered, and then realized what he'd said. They started laughing at the same time, John's big laugh that embarrassed him around anyone but Rodney, Rodney's ridiculously high-pitched laugh.   


  
"You goof," Rodney said fondly. "Give me the damn sunblock. You need some, too." John handed it over and submitted to Rodney's ministrations.   


  
"Hey, Colonel Sheppard, Doctor McKay!"  


  
"Chuck," John said. "Having a good day off?"  


  
"The best. We should do this more often. You know, when things aren't too crazy. Anyway, here's a little ice chest thing; Pehar brought a dozen from Xta. Major Lorne put some beer in here for you guys."  


  
"Hey, thanks!" John said, resting on his elbows. The little box was not much larger than a six pack, and glowed a cool blue in the violent sunlight. "Tell Lorne thanks, too. And Pehar."  


  
"Yes, sir! You have a good day!"  


  
"That's an Americanism!" Rodney shouted after Chuck, who just waved and continued to jog back to the noisy side of the pier. "What kind of beer?"  


  
"All kinds," John said. He had sat up enough to slide open the rounded lid. "Wow, it's really cold. Athosian beer, Xtax beer, Bud, a bottle of Anchor Steam, something called pumpkin ale and one bottle of Phillips blackberry wheat." He took the Anchor Steam and let Rodney rummage through the others, grumbling. He finally took the deep green jug of Xtax beer, what they called _ol_ , and flipped open its cap. They watched as a tiny transparent curl of fog coiled out of the bottle, and then Rodney grinned at John and took a deep, thirsty drink. When Rodney had set down the jug and turned yet again to re-arrange his tee shirt on the warm pavement behind him, John struck: he shoved Rodney into the water, then jumped in after him.  


  
"You jerk!" Rodney said, snorting water, but laughing as well. "Damn, these, tsk." He bent over and John realized he was struggling to unbutton his trousers. John was wearing a pair of blue plaid boxers, but he saw that Rodney had his yellow bumblebee boxers on. He splashed down, ducked under water, grabbed the hem of Rodney's trousers and pulled. Rodney lifted his feet and floated on his back. There was a flash of white as his boxers started down with his trousers, but Rodney held on and wiggled. John stood up and tossed the soggy trousers on the deck, then struck out in a crawl, enjoying the buoyancy of the water, its layered warmth, the clarity. He flashed his way across the small pool, heading toward the cascading steps that led to the ocean beyond the protection of Atlantis' starfish arms. Suddenly he was stopped dead in the water; Rodney had seized one of his ankles and was hanging on.  


  
He pivoted so he faced Rodney and splashed him, but Rodney reeled him in by his leg, laughing wildly, his face red from sun and beer and hilarity. Without thinking, John let Rodney pull him in and lifted his free leg to curl around Rodney's middle, so they bobbed chest to chest. "Oh," Rodney said. He glanced over his shoulder, but they were out of sight of the others, unless someone came looking for them. They sank together, not hiding, not really, but drawing nearer, near enough that John could feel Rodney's warm and beery breath on his damp cheek. "You crazy man," Rodney whispered, glancing again over his shoulder.  


  
Suppose 1 = 2  
"I never thought the day would come that I'd say I love summer," Rodney said.  


  
"Summer _nights_ ," John corrected. "You can't burn at night. Nothing to bitch about."  


  
Rodney pinched his arm, just at the bicep, which hurt _ow!_ , so John rolled on top of him and pressed his arms back. "I can't see the stars," Rodney whispered, but he looked at John as if John were the sun and the moon and all the stars in all the skies.   


  
John smiled. "Suppose you could do whatever you wanted," he whispered in Rodney's ear, feeling him shiver beneath him. "What would you do?"  


  
Rodney nudged John's face with his nose, kissed him chastely, lifted his chin, and said, "You already know."  


  
And John knew. And then they did, beneath two moons and the benevolent gaze of the city, free, in unity, free.


	14. 3G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story a day for the month of January, 2009 (with three exceptions). Each day's story is posted as a chapter, but they are unrelated to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John Sheppard/Rodney McKay.

Torren said, "Oh, your poor gums! Maisry, look: Merrie is teething."  


  
Maisry leaned over his shoulder at their daughter, red faced and drooling. "Poor little girl," she murmured, and let Merrie gnaw on her knuckle. "I can feel a tooth!"  


  
Torren laughed and said, "I told you! The first of many. Do you think she's running a fever?"  


  
Maisry lay her other hand over Merrie's forehead, then bent over further and rested her cheek against Merrie's face. "Maybe a little," she murmured, kissing the baby. Maisry and Torren stood leaning over their daughter, lost in her beauty and amazed by her existence. She was, Maisry thought, the most beautiful baby in the history of the universe.  


  
"How's my little princess?" Rodney asked, charging in. He had more energy than anyone Maisry knew, and huffed and puffed his way around Atlantis, knocking people and things aside with his cane, as if every trip to the mess hall or his office were of the greatest urgency. "Oh for god's sake, wipe up that drool. It'll pool in her nose and get infected." He didn't wait for them, but grabbed a soft cloth and gently wiped her damp chin and cheek. "How's my little girl, how _is_ my darling?" he asked Merrie, his voice soft in a way Maisry would never have believed before Merrie's entrance into their world.  


  
"Teething," Torren said. "Look, you can see the incisor trying to break through."  


  
"Such a big girl," Rodney said. "Well, are you two ready?"  


  
"I don't know," Maisry said, glancing guiltily at Torren. "It's so hard to leave Merrie behind."  


  
"For a few hours," Rodney said, "and she'll spend them with me."  


  
"We really should go," Torren said, though Maisry thought he was reluctant, too. "We're supposed to be in the jumper bay right now."  


  
Maisry bit her lip and pulled away from the baby. Rodney scooped her up; she giggled and drooled. "You're disgusting," he cooed to her, making Torren laugh. "Messy Merrie-Berry."  


  
Maisry laughed, too, but fondly. She reached out to touch the soft hair on Merrie's head; Rodney caught her hand and kissed it. "Go," he said. "Have a good time. You know I'll take care of her."  


  
She nodded, grabbed her shawl, and took Torren's hand. Merrie was staring at Rodney's face, eyes wide and stunned, as if she'd never seen anything so amazing. Torren gently tugged, and she left with a final glance at her daughter.  


  
"They'll be okay," Torren said firmly, and she thought he was trying to convince himself as well as her. "Uncle Rodney loves her and hey, he took care of me when I was a baby. As far as I know, he never dropped me on my head."  


  
Maisry refrained from commenting, just let Torren lead her into the great bay. Only one puddlejumper sat there, with Evan Lorne leaning against it. He was wearing a tie-dyed tee shirt that said "Peace Love & Volleyball," and the kind of cap the Janusians wore to protect themselves from their two suns.   


  
"All right," he said, straightening. "I wondered if you'd decided not to go. The jumper's almost full, so grab a seat. We'll wait another five minute and then head over to the mainland."  


  
Just then, Maisry caught sight of another jumper slowly lowering into the bay. It settled with unlikely grace not far from them. She had been to Earth for graduate school and remembered the noise the Earthian vehicles had made and how bad they'd smelled, whether they rolled along the ground or flew in the sky or floated on the water. She admired the silent jumpers even more after that experience, but even so, she would never call them attractive or graceful. Only John Sheppard could make them so.  


  
He stepped out the rear hatch, a bit sunburned, carrying a lumpy woven bag -- full of goodies for later, she guessed. "TJ!" he greeted Torren.  


  
"PJ!" Torren replied, and they high-fived. Maisry forced him to accept a kiss on his cheek.  


  
"So you're actually doing it, spending a few hours away from the baby," John said, smiling at them. "I remember the first time Teyla left Torren." He shook his head. "You'd have thought we'd never see him again."  


  
Maisry tried to reply, but it really did feel as if she were deserted her baby girl forever. Torren put his arm around her, and John and Evan exchanged despairing glances.   


  
"It does feel that way," Torren whispered to her, kissing her temple.  


  
John looked horrified, so Maisry reached out and took his hand. "I'm fine," she said. "I know it's silly, and I know that every parent feels this way. But it is the first time."  


  
"Rodney and I will take the best care of her," John assured her. "And if there's anything at all, we'll get you. And the doctor. The doctor first, and then you."  


  
Even Maisry laughed at that. "It'll be all right," she said firmly, and almost believed it.  


  
"Course it will," Evan said. "Now, unless you want to stand, I suggest you get on onboard; here come the Hellingers." The Hellingers were thought to be well named, because they had three little hellions and all three were coming, Maisry saw. She looked at John a final time; he gave her an ironic salute, and then she let Torren help her up the ramp. She wanted to snap at him that she could manage a _ramp_ , but realized it was just her concern about the baby.   


  
The jumper really was crowded, but Torren and she found a place at the very rear. One of them would have to stand, but they could take turns, and it was only a twenty minute flight to the mainland. The Hellions stayed near the cockpit, though Evan wouldn't let them in it. They were too unpredictable. She didn't remember any children of her generation being as brazen as the Hellions, but things had been much different when she and Torren had been children.  


  
Especially Torren. She looked up at her husband, who was watching the Hellions with a slight smile. He was the first of the new Atlantians, the first child born to Atlantis in millennia. He was also the closest of the new generation to the founders, and the primary reason that their daughter was being babysat by the two most important people in Atlantis. Maisry's mother had come to Atlantis in the third great wave from Earth; her father from a people culled down to the last few hundred, far too few to be genetically viable. She had been one of the first mixed children, and even now there were a few places in the galaxy where she wasn't welcome, not once they learned her background. But mostly that was over, and she hoped her children wouldn't be teased the way she had been.  


  
She wished she could see Atlantis shrinking as they flew away. Her mother had been able to fly jumpers and Maisry remembered with pleasure going up with her as a little girl. Unfortunately, she did not possess the ATA gene, and the gene therapy hadn't taken. This was a source of deep disappointment for her. She hoped her recessive gene would pass to Merrie and that the gene therapy, continually being improved, would take. She planned to try again; as one of the lead researchers, she felt confident in the new vectors they were using in the most recent trials.   


  
Torren caught her hand and drew her attention to him. She smiled up at him, her handsome husband. They'd married in the Athosian fashion, which wasn't at all formal, nothing like her father's culture, but not too different from her mother's: just a small group of family and friends listening to them as they promised to be kind to each other: to respect and to cherish. And so far, Torren had been exactly that: kind, respectful, and she truly felt treasured by him. He was the athlete of the two, though before the baby they had run together in the mornings -- his second run after he'd run with the Atlantian warriors, but still, she'd run two miles a day, plus bantos, plus weight lifting, plus yoga. She was slowly returning to her prior schedule, though it was difficult with Merrie. At least her lab was near enough that she could run to her quarters to breastfeed Maisry, and two days a week she brought Maisry with her. Radek had arranged a small creche for the labs, on the condition that no children pestered him. Of course that was impossible; he was irresistible to children of all ages.   


  
"Stand _back_ ," Evan said firmly to the eldest Hellion, who made a horrible face at him, but did move out of the cockpit. Neither of his parents paid the slightest attention to the exchange; they were too busy discussion their work. They were marine biologists studying the salinity stratification of the ocean Atlantis floated in, which admittedly had important implications both for the stability of the exterior of the city as well as for supplying fresh water to the city. But really, Maisry thought, they shouldn't have children if they were just going to ignore them.  


  
Then she remembered Merrie, her beautiful daughter Meridyth, named for her honorary grand-uncle, and for an instant felt a crushing shame: what a bad mother, to leave her behind! Except she was tired, and she missed time alone with Torren, and everyone said it would be good for Merrie, and . . .  


  
She sighed, squeezed Torren's hand, determined not to sink into a depression for the afternoon. This was a joyous occasion: the biannual Athosian celebration of _Erisantha_ , with games of _faroe_ and _baseball_ and a feast. That's what she and Torren were going to, the feast and, if they had time, some dancing. She missed dancing with Torren; he was good at it, fast and strong and he had his mother's grace.  


  
"Here we are," Evan called back, and she saw the open area they used to land the jumpers. Over the years, the brush had been beaten back and a sandy path emerged lined with small white and yellow flowers she could see from the air, so vibrant were they. She stood, embraced by Torren, as did everyone, knowing that Evan would set them down gently. Then the hatch popped and the warm sweet air rushed in. Torren grabbed her hand and they ran down the gangway, into the brilliant sunshine, racing toward the smell of roasting _dir_ and the sounds of people laughing and talking and cheering.   


  
Next _Erisantha_ , Merrie would be two, and they'd bring her with them, to dance and play with the other children. This afternoon, though, was just hers and Torren's. He swung her round into his arms and they began to dance.  


  


* * *

  


  
"Oh my god, how can such a beautiful baby be so stinky!" Rodney groaned. "Jesus, how many diapers do you think we've changed over the years? Shouldn't there be a better way? So disgusting."  


  
John's face said that he agreed with Rodney, but he didn't speak, no doubt afraid to breathe more deeply. Merrie chuckled and starfished her little hands. "Oh god, there she goes again," Rodney said. "What the hell do they _feed_ her?"  


  
"Ah!" Merrie answered, wiggling. When she was clean and diapered, Rodney picked her up again, kissing her nearly bald head, though he knew better than to say that to her mum. Well, Merrie did have more hair than he did, so maybe Maisry had a point. Still, at least she smelt sweet and baby-like now. He kissed her cheek but she was wiggling so he set her down on the blanket John had spread on the floor of their quarters. She took off like one of their racecars: zoom went the baby, crawling incredibly fast.   


  
"Look at her go," John said from the bathroom, washing his hands compulsively. Rodney joined him, soaping up happily. Ew, he thought, but he couldn't stop smiling as he watched her. She wasn't anything like Torren at that age, who'd been a rather quiet baby, always appearing deep in thought, if babies could think. Merrie, though, must take after her mother, whose energy and intelligence Rodney had long respected. Now _she_ had been a wild child, racing through the city, asking questions. Why, why, why, Maisry had asked and was still asking.   


  
Then John grabbed him around his middle and began wrestling with him, as if he were a big puppy. "Hey, ow, what?" Rodney cried, but laughed and wrestled back, working their way out to the main area and onto the floor so the baby could crawl on them. "Ah, ah!" she cried. She was trying to stand a lot these days, and used his knee to lever herself up, butt in the air first. They lay on the soft blanket, used by so many babies over the years, stained and faded and worn but still comfortable, and watched her loom over them, wobbling and bobbing. Then she sat hard, her eyes and mouth popped open, and she said, "Ah!"  


  
They laughed. "Ah," John said, reaching over Rodney to let Merrie wrap her hands around his fingers, then push them into her mouth to gnaw.   


  
"Num, num," Rodney said.  


  
John lay his head on Rodney's chest to watch. Rodney sighed, resting his hand on John's head, still thick with hair, the bastard, even if it was almost entirely grey.   


  
"Think she'll take a nap?" John asked.  


  
"I hope so. I could use one." John lifted his head and looked at Rodney, one corner of his mouth lifted. "No, we're not having sex in front of the baby," Rodney said, but John just raised an eyebrow, so Rodney stroked it gently. "Well, maybe. If she's really soundly asleep, and she can't see directly into the bed, and there's plenty of time before her parents come back --"  


  
John rose onto his forearms, nearly crushing Rodney, and kissed his mouth. "Ah!" said Merrie, and began to suck on Rodney's elbow.


	15. Flying Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story a day for the month of January, 2009 (with three exceptions). Each day's story is posted as a chapter, but they are unrelated to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rodney McKay.

_A study of the importance of film as an effective form of artistic expression, particularly as a reflection of contemporary galaxy-wide values and attitudes. Emphasis is placed on major cinematic techniques, cinema history, and the importance of film analysis. Full-length films from a number of Pegasus cultures will be viewed weekly and discussed._   


  
"What the hell?" Rodney started, staring at the printed notice neatly taped next to the entrance to the transporter. Another one for the film class had been taped on the wall outside his lab, and there were two others as well. One said, _Continued study of Mandarin Chinese through listening, speaking, reading translation, composition, and grammatical analysis and application. Points of interest regarding Chinese cultures will continue to be presented,_ which implied an earlier course in Mandarin had been taught -- when? By whom? And the third one read, _Advanced study of concepts in strength of materials: normal, shear, bending, and bearing stress; stress-strain relation; and design properties of materials. Practical application of structure calculations for sizing bolts, rivets, shafts, beams, columns, and pressure vessels._ That at least sounded practical; who the hell spoke Mandarin in the Pegasus galaxy? And in what sense was film analysis important?  


  
He stalked into the lab. First one in, as usual; he made a fresh pot of _cha_ , poured more Janusian honey into the fat plastic honey-bear, and waited impatiently for the _cha_ to brew, licking his fingers. He wondered how long the classes had been organized, who was responsible, who would attend. Probably their existence had been hidden from him, since everyone could guess that he'd find them a waste of time. If people had spare time, they should work on their work, not irrelevant avocations.  


  
Except now he couldn't shout these things because in his limited spare time, he raced cars with John, practiced with bantos with Ronon, studied meditation with Teyla. He'd learned to read Ancient and Genii, and could sing Old Athosian folk songs. Everyone on Atlantis worked far more than forty hours, but that had been true for most of them on Earth as well. Clocks had different meaning on Atlantis, and not simply because the day on this planet was longer than on either Earth or the first world they had come to. And though many days he felt as if there simply was not enough time in the universe to get everything done that he wanted and needed to do, he increasingly found that spending time with friends -- with family -- rewarded him in ways that work couldn't always.   


  
So he didn't tear down the signs, nor give the evil eye to anyone he caught studying them or jotting down the time and place for the classes. He barely noticed them. Barely.  


  
 _Cha_ in hand, he turned his attention, as always, to energy; its consumption, how to make more, how to make do with less. Today he planned to spend the morning reading abstracts of journal articles describing work done on tidal power, primarily in western Europe and parts of China, though he was happy to read that Nova Scotia had been awarded a large grant to work on a tidal energy demonstration. He settled down to sort through the various methods of abstracting power from the tides. If he found any that looked promising, he might be able to get one or two of the researchers to Atlantis, assuming they could navigate the rigid security protocols the American had imposed.  


  
His watch beeped at 1300, and a few minute later John's voice crackled in his ear. "McKay," he said. "Lunch, remember? I'll tell them to hide the cinnamon rolls."  


  
"Ha," Rodney said into his mic. "Everyone knows better than that. I am a petty, petty man and who would risk my wrath?" He locked his laptop. "On my way."  


  
"Ciiiiinamon rolls," John said.  


  
Outside the mess hall, Rodney saw an entire row of notices, printed in the same font and style as the ones he'd already seen. He strolled past them slowly enough to see that most were new to him. He paused in front of a flyer advertising a colloquium on flux compactifications. He peered more closely and saw that it was to be presented by a panel that included Radek. He raised an eyebrow and said, "Huh."  


  
John was waiting at their usual table, already eating. Rodney nodded at him and went through the line. Potato soup with those odd little seeds that got stuck in his teeth but tasted pretty good when crunched, a salad of shredded carrots and shredded turnip-like root vegetables from, uh, somewhere not Earth, and cinnamon rolls. Oh god. He took two; the kitchen expected him to.  


  
"Beer would be good with this," John said, gesturing at his soup with his spoon.   


  
"Hearty," Rodney said. He remembered his mum saying _hearty_ about a soup; just that moment, no context, a flash of his mother, her voice, and then nothing. He shook his head and dug in.  


  
"Did you see what Kee brought back from PX2-593?" John asked, breaking his roll into two crumbly sections.   


  
"Simpson's on his team, so no. Why? Should I?"   


  
John shrugged. "Looked shiny to me."  


  
"Shiny in the sense of possessing a high albedo? The Firefly sense of cool? Or some Sheppardian definition hitherto unknown?"  


  
"First two," John said, popping the last of his roll in his mouth. He eyed Rodney's, who moved his closer to his chest. "Simpson thinks it's Ancient, so she and Kusanagi are working on it, testing for reactivity to the ATA gene."  


  
"I saw them huddled together. Thought they were either plotting a coup or setting a rendezvous for some lesbian liaison."  


  
John snorted. "Only in your dreams, McKay."  


  
"So did it react to Miko? Am I needed to handle that on top of everything else?" John shrugged again, but Rodney could tell by his persistence and the gleam in his eye that John really was interested. "After dinner," he said, relenting. "Although the girls won't thank you."  


  
"Don't call them _girls_ ," John said, sitting up. "I'm getting more soup; you want anything?"  


  
"Another cinnamon roll," Rodney called after him. So John was interested. He wondered what John had heard; he didn't have enough spare time for this interest to be the result of simple boredom.  


  
En route to the lab, Rodney saw yet more flyers advertising classes. "What is all this?" he asked John.   


  
John looked at him incredulously. "People have been offering classes since we got here." He gently smacked the back of Rodney's head. "How do you not know these things?"  


  
"I've been busy," Rodney defended him. "But I would have noticed all these flyers before. They're new, and I won't believe you if you say otherwise."  


  
"Yeah, they're newish, I guess. Mostly it's on the net, which you probably never pay attention to."  


  
"Why would I? Gossip and music downloads and, well, it's hard to find porn."  


  
"Ha! Not if you know where to look," John reassured him.  


  
"Rodney!" Simpson called as they entered. "Seriously, take a moment to look at this."  


  
John nudged him in the ribs. "That's why we're here, Carolyn," John said. "Heard you're checking out the artifact. Is it Ancient?"  


  
"Well, it is gene-activated," Miko said, "so we assume so. But we have no way of knowing for sure."  


  
"Occam's Razer," Rodney announced, "says Ancient. So let's start with that assumption."  


  
"You know what they say about you and me," John muttered.  


  
"Yeah, that you're an ass," Rodney muttered back, but he couldn't stop guffawing at John's terrible joke, and then had to shake his head at his laughter. "So?" he asked Carolyn and Miko. "Tick-tock, there's a cinnamon roll and a cup of _cha_ waiting for me."  


  
Carolyn Simpson gave him a look, but pushed the artifact toward them. "Colonel Sheppard, don't touch it but put your hand near it."  


  
John obliged, and Rodney could see on his face his eagerness. As his hand neared the silvery polyhedron, the surfaces began to glow blue, first almost imperceptibly, then deeper blue. "Not too close," Carolyn reminded him, but of course Sheppard couldn't resist and brought his hand even nearer until the planes began to fluoresce as if under an actinic light. Rodney grabbed his hand and pulled it back before he could touch it. His hand felt cool under Rodney's fingers.   


  
"Do you hear?" Miko whispered. Rodney bent forward. John was smiling, a bit loopy-looking, Rodney thought, but then he did hear something at a frequency so high as to barely register as sound. "It's nearly twenty thousand Herz," she said, still speaking quietly. No wonder Rodney had trouble hearing it.   


  
"What is it?" John asked. His eyes were shining in the pale blue light; even his skin seemed to glow.  


  
"Well," Carolyn said briskly, breaking the spell, "look at this." She turned a laptop toward them; Rodney could see graphic software scrawling thin lines in a pattern that looked familiar.  


  
"What is that?" he asked, pulling the laptop toward him. "Holy shit."  


  
"Exactly," Miko said triumphantly. "It's Ancient."  


  
"More specifically, old Ancient converted to a polynomial code and, well," Carolyn looked at John, "a code," she ended. "And we can read it. Decode it and read it."  


  
"Have you? What does it say?" John leaned closer to the laptop, frowning at it.  


  
"Just a little." Carolyn glanced at Miko and they shared a smile, irritating Rodney so he snapped his fingers at them. "It's a history of, well, from what we can tell, and remember that we're not historians --"  


  
"Enough with the qualifications," Rodney said. "What. Is. It?"  


  
"Domesday Book," Miko said.   


  
Rodney opened his mouth to shout something, but John said, "Oh, _cool_.   


  
"Cool?"  


  
"Seriously? Why do you think that?"  


  
"Well," Miko said, and she and Carolyn leaned over with John to peer at the laptop. The artifact began to glow again, from the combination of their presences. The graphing sped up in both frequency and amplitude. "Carolyn immediately guessed that this was data coded, so we tried a few of the more simple algorithms, but I used to work with Doctor Pilz, the cryptographer for the SGC. Even though I'm not a cryptographer, we worked closely enough that I remembered --"  


  
"Okay, okay, good job, both of you. I'm very impressed."  


  
They looked pleased; Miko even blushed a bit, which made Rodney feel a pang at his curmudgeonly behavior, but only a small pang. John looked delighted, his crooked grin glinting in his afternoon stubble. "Will you translate it?" he asked Miko, who looked at Rodney.  


  
"Of course not; she has more important work." He waved his hand. "There are others who can do it. Aren't there?" He mentally ran through the roster of his staff.  


  
"Yes, Rodney, there are others," Carolyn said. "But Miko and I will play around with it. In our spare time," she added before he could speak.  


  
"Oh, along with river-dancing and learning to paint?" he snapped, knowing he was being illogical.  


  
John tugged at him. "I think you need that cinnamon roll and _cha_ ," he said, drawing him away. "Good work," he called to Carolyn and Miko.  


  
"Yes, yes, I said they did good work," Rodney muttered, but he made sure they could hear him.   


  
"So, you going to take any classes, now that you finally know about them?"  


  
"Don't be ridiculous, why, are you? What are you taking?"  


  
They came to a stop in front of a bank of flyers by the transporter; another had been added since Rodney first noticed them. The new one read, _This course will focus on ways in which dance flows across cultural boundaries, reflecting and creating culture. Dance is a performing art, a cultural practice, a political act, and an embodiment of ideology and beliefs._   


  
"Give me a break," Rodney said. "They really are going to teach river-dancing." Then he said, "You're taking a dance class?"  


  
"No, Rodney," John said, frowning at him. "Chasing you around keeps me busy enough."  


  
"Chasing me around," Rodney grumbled.   


  
"Come on, admit it; the Domesday Book of Pegasus is pretty cool."  


  
"I already did admit it. I said they'd done good work." He looked at John more closely, then seized him by his forearm and dragged him across the corridor, around a corner, around another corner, and then to a tall narrow window. Blue and yellow light fell through the stained glass, and again John's skin seemed luminous in the strange light. "All this organizing of our spare time. Should I -- is that -- what're you --"  


  
John, to Rodney's immense surprise, put his hand over Rodney's mouth. His hand, Rodney discovered, was soft and warm, and shut Rodney up faster than any harsh words ever had. They stared at each other. John slowly drew his hand away, curling it into a fist, then shoving it into his pocket. "Uh," he said. "You still want flying lessons?"  


  
Rodney thought: time alone with John high above the city in a nearly sentient aircraft. Time alone with John. He started to smile.


	16. Reinforcement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story a day for the month of January, 2009 (with three exceptions). Each day's story is posted as a chapter, but they are unrelated to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ronon Dex/Rodney McKay/John Sheppard/Teyla Emmagan.

"Get away, get away!" Rodney shouted and shoved Ronon back. Ronon took two steps back, swung Rodney behind him into Teyla's arms, and leapt. "No! Shit, dammit, no!" he heard Rodney shout, but he was falling by then.  


  
Something was wrong -- he was falling too slowly. He should have hit bottom by now, but the air seemed thicker, softer, sturdier in this tunnel. He heard something roaring and slowed further, and then did hit bottom, but his landing was as gentle as rolling over in bed. Except that he kept falling, first to his knees, then collapsing onto his side. From there, he could see Sheppard.  


  
John's eyes were closed; in the weird flickering yellow light he looked all wrong: angular, hard, made of stone. His skin was always so pale; in this light, the color wasn't human. Ronon hunched toward him, crawling over what felt like lumpy air, until he reached his side. He, too, reclined, curled up, unmoving.  


  
More than a bit unnerved, Ronon gently fit his fingers over Sheppard's carotid artery. John was too skinny, was his first thought, and then relief: he felt the slow th-thump of a pulse. He exhaled in relief, then moved closer. "Sheppard," he said hoarsely, and shook John's shoulder. "Hey, wake up. Let's go." He didn't have a clue how to get out of there, but it would be easier if John were awake. "Hey!" he shouted into John's ear.  


  
This time, John stirred, frowning slightly, then twisting away from Ronon's hard grip on his shoulder. "Hmm," he said.  


  
"Yeah, hmm," Ronon said. "Come on, wake up. McKay'll have your ass."  


  
John sat up slowly, rubbing his head. "Ow."  


  
"They beat you up. Then you fell a long way." He took John's face in his hand and gently turned it. It hadn't started to swell or bruise yet, from what he could tell in this light. Then he ran his fingers over John's scalp; John winced when he found a goose-egg that had swollen. Not life-threatening, Ronon knew, but painful. Sheppard must have a bad headache, might even have a concussion. He peered into John's eyes, but the light wasn't good enough and the color of John's iris was too dark for Ronon to see the pupil. "You stand?" he asked, hooking his hand under John's arm.   


  
Slowly they rose, though John wobbled a bit. Then he saw where they were. "Holy shit," he said, staring down.  


  
"Yeah. Weird."  


  
"What is this? Some kind of force field? What's keeping us up here?" Sheppard stamped his boot; Ronon grabbed his knee.  


  
"Knock it off." He looked up; the top of the tunnel or hole or well they were in was a long way away. He squinted; maybe he could see two small heads peering over the edge. "Teyla!" he bellowed. John put his hands over his ears. Headache for sure. "McKay!"  


  
Ronon was sure he heard something in reply. How were they going to get out of here? He studied the walls around them. Definitely man-made, though he'd already known that, but not entirely smooth. He might be able to get enough of a purchase to climb, but Sheppard couldn't, Ronon was sure; not after having been used as a punching bag and tossed down a well. Even a magic well that didn't want to kill him.  


  
He studied Sheppard. Was it that gene that kept him alive and standing on air? Could he manipulate this place? Sheppard opened his eyes, though frowning deeply. "What?" he asked, his voice husky.  


  
"Touch the wall," Ronon said.  


  
"You sound like Rodney and Radek," Sheppard muttered, but he studied their surroundings. "No control panel?"  


  
Ronon shrugged. He started looking for anything that might be a control panel. No crystals winked in the dim light, no small metal boxes caught his eye. What would a control panel for this place look like? "Just touch the damn wall," he said.   


  
Sheppard grimaced, but he reached out and gently stroked the wall nearest them. The tunnel was about the diameter of the height of two men, seemingly gouged out of the earth -- Ronon could see hints of a matrix of stones, even fine roots, in the dark, moist soil. Sheppard's fingers left pale glowing fingerprints behind, fingerprints that slowly faded when he'd pulled back his hand.  


  
Suddenly something fell on them -- a shower of dirty and pebbles. "Hey," Ronon shouted up at Rodney and Teyla. They he saw a larger stone flying toward them. He caught it and a note fluttered, tied to it. He unfolded it and angled it toward the light.  


  
"What's it say?" Sheppard asked.  


  
"Get out, morons," Ronon read, and they both barked out a laugh.  


  
"Moron yourself!" Sheppard yelled, then held his head. "Ow."  


  
"Under your feet," he read further. They both looked down, Sheppard rocking his feet out, then kneeling. Ronon crouched next to him. He felt the transparent surface of whatever it was they were standing on -- Ronon put his face down right against it, trying to see through it, but all he could see was endless darkness stretching away. The texture of what they were standing on was rough, like ocean waves frozen, sharp edges under his hand.  


  
Sheppard was feeling around the perimeter; his hand suddenly dropped beneath the surface and he nearly fell. Ronon stabilized him as he stretched his arm lower; Ronon found it creepy to watch his arm disappear and reappear, distorted and faint. "What's under there?"  


  
Sheppard frowned. "Smoother underneath," he said. He worked his way slowly around. "Dammit, what did Rodney think we'd find under here?"   


  
He worked himself all the way around. "Weird," Ronon said. "What's holding us up?"  


  
"Please don't ask that question," Sheppard said. "I'm trying to forget that we're sitting in midair."  


  
"Nothing under us?"  


  
"Uh-uh." He withdrew his arm, shook it. "Damn, this stuff is uncomfortable. What's that note say again?"  


  
"Under your feet."  


  
They stared, crouched over, heads near. Sheppard's nose nearly touched the glassy surface. Then he said, "Wait. _Under_ your feet?" He stood, Ronon rising with him. He abruptly bellowed and leapt into the air, coming down hard. The surface moved -- down, then up. He looked at Ronon, and then they both yelled and jumped up, leaping like _tighri_ but landing hard, hard, and the surface moved again, farther down and then farther up. "Under our feet!" Sheppard shouted, laughing. They bounded up and back down again. "My head is _killing_ me!"  


  
Ronon bet it was; he was getting a bit lightheaded from all the leaping around, and even though the soles of his boots, the sharp edges pricked at his feet. "What're we doing?" he shouted back.  


  
"Not a clue," Sheppard said. "But I think it's working." They flung themselves into the air, as if they could fly up the tunnel and out into the air.  


  
"Harder!" Rodney shouted down at them. "The harder, the higher!"  


  
"Figured that out," Ronon shouted back at him. He realized they'd moved a lot closer to the surface; he could see Rodney and Teyla clearly. Teyla held loops of rope across her arms, and Rodney had his P90 out and kept glancing around them. Not a good sign.  


  
"Wait," Teyla called, and Ronon was happy to stop jumping. He held John up, who looked even paler in the brighter light. She let down the rope; not quite long enough.   


  
"Can you jump one more time?" Ronon asked John.  


  
He wiped his face and took a deep breath. "Let's do it." He staggered a bit when Ronon released him, but crouched, waited for Ronon, and they took off together, higher than ever. The surface sank so much that Ronon thought they'd fall to the bottom, however far that was, but it began to rise, steadily this time. Holding John firmly, he watched the rope coil. They halted about a dozen _menri_ from the surface, near enough that they could abseil up, though Ronon kept his hands on John until Rodney could haul him up.  


  
"You look like shit," Rodney told him.  


  
"Hurry," Teyla said. "We must leave this place."  


  
"Why? Ronon spun; the dark barrens went on and on, right to the horizon.   


  
"Satellites," Rodney said. "We need to get to the gate."  


  
"How far?" Sheppard asked.  


  
"Many miles," Teyla said, and they were silent for a while.  


  
"What was that?" Ronon asked, helping Sheppard along. "That thing we were on."  


  
"In the city, when they took Sheppard, I saw them. People movers, elevators, I don't know. They put Teyla and me on one."  


  
"Miles," Sheppard said. Ronon grabbed his arm more tightly, and Rodney took his other arm. They walked. "Not magic?"  


  
"Don't be ridiculous, of course not, is he okay? What did they do to you?"  


  
No one answered. They kept walking. Rodney muttered to himself occasionally. Ronon and Teyla kept watch, and even Rodney remembered to scan the horizon, but no one came. Ronon felt oppressed by the knowledge that they were being watched.   


  
"The gate," Teyla said. Ronon could see it, deceptively small on the horizon, turned at an angle to them so it didn't look like a ring but a narrow ellipse through which he could see more of the dark low rolling land, so bleak.   


  
"What happened?" Sheppard asked. "P7R-294, right? Friendly farmers with low technology?"  


  
"He walks, he talks!" Rodney said, but Ronon knew he was pleased to hear Sheppard coherent again. "Yes, that's right. Friendly farmers, ha! We never see it coming, do we. Ka-pow! You light up some artifact, they light up at you, big fight, same old, same old."  


  
"Knocked you on your head," Ronon said. "Took you away. You escaped, ran away, we ran after you, we all ran a long time, then we fell down a big hole."  


  
"Big hole," John agreed.  


  
"Really big hole," Rodney said. "How do you make our missions sound like Dr. Seuss stories?"  


  
"Which one is he?" Ronon asked, not really caring. "There are people at the gate."  


  
"Fuck," Rodney said. He fumbled in his pack and pulled out a small pair of binoculars. "Ours, ours, please be ours," he muttered. "Of course they're not ours, why would I imagine there was any possibility they'd be ours, I'm not an idiot."  


  
"Get down, Rodney," Sheppard snapped at him, and Ronon pulled Rodney down onto the damp gravel.   


  
"I will circle around," Teyla said. "Rodney, stay with John. Ronon?"  


  
"Satellites," Rodney said, moving closer to Sheppard.  


  
"No choice," Ronon said, and slapped Rodney on the back. "Let's get closer, then we'll split up."  


  
"Rodney and I will give you a diversion," Sheppard said.  


  
"We will?"  


  
Ronon didn't know if the satellites could see them; Sateda had had satellites that could focus down to less than one _menro_ ; maybe these guys did, too. He refused to look up. At least they were all dressed in dark colors that nearly matched the land surrounding them.   


  
It was a lot harder to move while keeping low and out of sight. They stopped talking and rested frequently, to make sure Sheppard was all right, not that anyone came out and said that. Ronon watched as his pale skin beaded sweat, and he began to shiver. They needed to get him home.  


  
"Close enough," he finally said, and settled Sheppard.  


  
"Lie down, John," Teyla said. "Rest while you can. We will have to run."  


  
"I can help," he said, making Rodney snort and roll his eyes.  


  
"Rodney will watch over you," Teyla said. "Let us do this."  


  
Sheppard shivered hard then, and Rodney looked at Teyla, then Ronon, his eyes wide. "Go," he said. "Just. Be careful."  


  
Ronon didn't have to say a word to Teyla; they'd worked together so long that he knew which way she'd go. Their radios had been taken from them, and he kept as low as he could and still make time so the people at the gate couldn't see him. There were four, he could see now, all youngish, carrying awkward weapons that worked a bit like his blaster, but didn't have the distance his did, nor the P90 that Teyla carried.  


  
Because he knew Teyla was out there, he could follow her movement, but he was pretty sure they were far enough away to avoid being spotted before they wanted to be. He saw the DHD, a fifth man leaning against it, looking bored. He wondered what they'd been told.  


  
Then John started shouting and hobbling toward the gate. Rodney was helping him walk, and each had one hand up. The guy by the DHD and two of the men at the gate started to run toward them. One man at the gate raised his weapon and aimed it at them; before Ronon could fire his weapon, Teyla had, knocking the weapon from the guy's hands, then putting another shot over his head. The two men on the gate platform dove off it, so Ronon skidded to the DHD and slammed in the code for Atlantis. The men rolled out of the way of the splash and by the time they got up, Teyla and Ronon were there, kicking their weapons away. Ronon hauled one of them back and tossed him into the platform; he heard the sound of his head hitting the stone. Teyla slammed the other one in the head with the butt of her P90.   


  
They began to run toward the three men heading toward John and Rodney. Rodney was standing in front of John, he weapon out. Teyla saw it at the same moment and they veered away so they wouldn't be in the crossfire if Rodney shot. Ronon's long legs outpaced Teyla and he soon was near enough to the men that he could take the one who'd stood by the DHD down with his blaster. Another stopped and stared, then began running away. Ronon dropped him.  


  
The third he left to Teyla and Rodney. When he realized that he was the last one, he raised his weapon to fire; Teyla and Rodney shot at the same time. The man went down, crying out, and then Rodney grabbed Sheppard and helped him to his feet, urging him on. Ronon ducked and got Sheppard over his shoulder.  


  
"Oh man, I hate this," Sheppard groaned, but it got them back to the gate sooner. The guard who'd run away was running back toward them full tilt, Ronon saw, and another was sitting up, looking for a weapon. He ran faster, and thrust through the event horizon, abruptly in Atlantis.  


  
John threw up. "Sorry," he whispered as Ronon swung him off his shoulder and onto the floor of the gateroom.   


  
"Shut up," Rodney said, panting hard and looking over Ronon's shoulder at Sheppard. "God, what a mess."  


  
Then they were surrounded by medical personnel and Ronon was happy to sit down on the big steps and let others take charge. Rodney and Teyla sat next to him, Rodney still complaining to himself. Ronon put his hand on Rodney's shoulders and squeezed. Rodney shut up.  


  
Ronon arrived at the infirmary when Sheppard was in bed, cannula in his nose, his face nearly as white as the sheets he lay on, his beard already dark against his skin. Rodney was already there standing at the foot of Sheppard's bed, looking nervous and sad. Teyla entered almost a minute after Ronon. "How is he?" Ronon asked.  


  
"He's right here," Sheppard said. "I'm fine."  


  
"He's shitty," Rodney said. "Broken rib, which is resulting in difficult breathing. Concussion, of course, but what's new there. Minor abrasions and contusions. Headache the size of Atlantis."  


  
"Yeah, maybe," Sheppard said. He looked sulky.  


  
Ronon put his arm around Sheppard's shoulders, lifting his head carefully. He rested his other hand on Sheppard's forehead, and felt Sheppard's muscles relax. He looked meaningfully at Teyla and Rodney.  


  
Teyla took Sheppard's hands and held them to her face as she bent over the bed, leaning against Ronon. She began to massage his hands, and Ronon felt Sheppard relax even more.  


  
Then Rodney, after glancing around nervously, went to the other side of the bed and carefully slid his arm behind Sheppard, so his and Ronon's arms rested parallel to each other. As always, Rodney was warm, like a teapot steaming. "You silly man," Rodney whispered to Sheppard, bent low over him. Sheppard's eyes were closed beneath Ronon's hand, but he smiled. Rodney kissed him. Ronon bent over as well, and Rodney reluctantly made room for him. "Crazy kind of taskmaster," he whispered to John, and kissed him, too. Then Teyla crowded against Ronon, firmly kissing John. "Do not leave us," she said in her quiet voice that made Ronon think she was the true taskmaster of his team.  


  
"I'm all right," John said, and he looked better. More color in his face, and he was smiling, lines curling around his mouth. He pulled his arms out from under the covers and reached for Teyla and Rodney.  


  
"We shouldn't reward him like this," Rodney said. "We're just reinforcing his heroic behavior."  


  
"Shut up," John said, smiling harder. Yeah, he was definitely blushing.  


  
Rodney kissed him again. "What the hell," he said. "Maybe we're reinforcing his survival behavior. Like falling into a hole with some forcefield elevator thing in it. That we should always reinforce."  


  
"What the hell was that?" Ronon wondered, gently massaging John's forehead.  


  
"I've been thinking it was probably a missile silo. Maybe they were going to blow us up. Let's cross them off our Christmas list."  


  
Ronon could tell that John was falling asleep, now that he was warm and fed and knew his team was all right. In some ways, John was the most predictable man he'd ever known. In others, the most surprising -- like how hard he fought when the team first began to take care of him. But now, he understood that it was their choice as well as their job.  


  
"Go to sleep," Rodney whispered to John, stroking his cheek, then kissing it. "We'll be right here. Right here."


	17. Phoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story a day for the month of January, 2009 (with three exceptions). Each day's story is posted as a chapter, but they are unrelated to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chuck.

"Chuck! Chuck!" He turned back toward the mess hall to find a cluster of friends and colleagues grinning at him.  


  
"Oh, no," he said, putting his hands up and backing away. "It's been a very long day. It's bed for me now."  


  
"Oooooh," a lot of them said, like mooing cows, Chuck thought, but he couldn't help grinning at their faces and noises.   


  
"Come on," Amelia said, gesturing. "We're going down to the Great Room with the phony TV. There'll be alcohol," she added.  


  
"And cookies," Haidar tempted. His sister Nur held up a translucent bowl; Chuck knew it held her home-made ghorayebah, which he loved. The two chemists experimented with a lot of food and were favorites in the mess hall.   


  
"Booze and cookies," he said. "What a combination." He tried to sound sardonic, but everyone knew it was a done deal. "What's the movie?"  


  
"The fourth Indiana Jones," Luka said. "The one with Galadriel."  


  
"I've seen it," Chuck said, still half hoping to get away. He wasn't sure he wanted to spend the evening with more people after his too-full day.  


  
Emma said, "Please," and he shook his head; he always had a hard time saying no to Emma. She was the go-to girl when anyone wanted time off and would always agree to swap shifts.  


  
The group laughed and swept him up, Ulrika taking his arm and maneuvering so she was between him and the others. "Don't feel compelled to tell them anything," she murmured to him. He shrugged. So it was a bit embarrassing. Everyone had a story on Atlantis.  


  
They settled into the Great Room, called _great_ not because it was large but because it was pretty cool. It had the nicest toilet in Atlantis, a kind of sensual bidet that seemed to read the mind of the ATA people. There was a long counter they'd loaded up with a microwave oven, a coffee-maker, and a blender; under the counter was a dorm-sized refrigerator that Luka and Haidar had converted into a freezer so it usually had ice cream or some Pegasian variant in it. In the years they'd been in Pegasus, people had brought these appliances with them as personal items.   


  
Someone in the first generation of Atlantians had moved two sofas down here; they were sofas from the Ancients' era and so spectacularly uncomfortable, but Nur and Miko and some other people had made oversized pillows, and Chuck, among others, had brought back from Earth and Pegasus worlds comforters and throws, so they weren't bad to sit on. When Teyla had gotten pregnant, Jeannie Miller had sent her a long body pillow that eventually ended up down here; people fought over that. Since Chuck had been bullied down here, he figured he had first right to it, and curled up next to it. The room was carpeted in rugs from all over Pegasus as well as pilfered from storage rooms on Atlantis. With enough rugs, the floor was cushy and warm, so most people plopped down on it and leaned their backs against the sofas.  


  
Luka got the phony TV set up to play the movie while Amelia poured small cups of _xicatu_ , a potent liqueur from Anaxoni that tasted of wild flowers and ethyl alcohol. They settled down, grabbing handsful of popcorn, cookies, or wedges of the pale cheese from mBar, and mugs of _xicatu_. Luka started the vid, but left it muted, and Chuck realized they were all looking expectantly at him.  


  
"Oh, hell," he said through a mouthful of ghorayebah. He swallowed and took a good sip of _xicatu_. "What'd you hear?"  


  
"You married McKay!" several of them chorused, and everyone laughed, even Chuck.  


  
"No!" he protested. "I did not!"  


  
"That's not what we heard," Amelia said, raising her eyebrows.  


  
"Ronon has a big mouth," Chuck said firmly: more laughter.  


  
"Well?" Nur asked. Even Ulrika looked curious, though she at least didn't tease him.  


  
He sighed dramatically. "If I tell you, will you promise never to mention it again?"  


  
"No way!  


  
"Fuck that!"  


  
"As if, Campbell."  


  
"How many years have you known us?"  


  
"If you don't tell us yourself," Amelia said, "then we only have Ronon's word about what happened."  


  
"Shit," Chuck said, and everyone laughed again. "Okay, you guys win, but just shut up about it in front of McKay at least."  


  
"That's an easy promise to keep," Haidar said.  


  
"Ronon says he's not as bad as he first seems," Amelia said, but the only response were catcalls of _Ronon says_.  


  
"Okay," Chuck said again, straightening his shoulders and taking a good draught of _xicatu_. "Here's the deal. I had to go off-world because there was a communication problem on Phoon and Doctor Zelenka, who normally takes care of their tech, was off on Planet Kid --"  


  
"Punishment because he pissed off McKay," Haidar inserted. "Fixed a problem before he did, or something."  


  
"Shhh," Nur told him, and waved at Chuck to continue.  


  
"Well, whatever the reason, he was off-world already and he and I had worked on it together in the labs here, so Colonel Sheppard asked me to come along."  


  
"Bet McKay loved that, a lowly sergeant being asked to help with technology."  


  
"Actually, he didn't seem to mind. It was just their central communication equipment; he had another problem to work on about power consumption," Chuck said. "And _that_ turned out to be the problem. You know all the scuttlebutt we hear about places that have holy relics that are really ZPMs and stuff?"  


  
Emma said, "The Phoon have a ZPM?"  


  
"Well, no," Chuck admitted. "But you're heard those stories, or similar ones even back at the SGC. Well, I guess the Phoon don't have a religion like I'd think of one --"  


  
"Church of Chuck," Haidar said, and Nur poked him.  


  
"Not a formal religion with a hierarchy an all, but they are really, uh, spiritual people and believe that we're all the same. And I mean _all_ the same: rocks, trees, people, goats, rivers, clouds, everything. And you have to greet them all respectfully because they're all our brothers and sisters or something. I'm not actually clear on that."  


  
Amelia circled her hand meaning _hurry up_ , so Chuck did. "You can imagine how well McKay does with that, greeting the rocks and trees. Fortunately, there are only certain places that require greeting; it's assumed you're greeting everything else silently. But certain doors and archways and trees and the stream that runs through the village and the bridge that goes over the stream.  


  
"In other words, a lot of stuff needs to be greeted properly," he concluded. "Teyla gave me a list of them before we left, and Ronon quizzed me on it. If I missed one, he'd sock me in the shoulder," Chuck added, rubbing his left shoulder where there was sure to be a bruise. "And Colonel Sheppard quizzed Rodney, but he just rattled off the list and said, 'Yeah, yeah, whatever, can we go now?' And so we went."  


  
They'd gone through the gate on Atlantis and out onto a meadow in early morning. The sun still hung low in the sky, its rays slanting obliquely through the tops of the fir trees on the far side of the settlement and splashing into the meadow where the stargate stood, turning the seedpods gold in the morning light. White stones, probably quartz, had been placed around the splashzone of the gate and reflected the sunlight smartly into Chuck's eyes. The village was made of dark wood studded with the quartz, but looking into it that time of day Chuck couldn't see much detail.  


  
"Stargate, star rock, mother tree, water of life, crossing over, threshold, transverse beam," McKay muttered behind Chuck.  


  
The greeting was a little embarrassing but not complicated, Chuck explained. You had to fold your hands together and bend forward at a forty-five degree angle, eyes closed, and mentally greet the object. No instructions on what the greeting should be, so he just thought _hello!_ at it. He held the pose for the count of ten seconds, straightened, and only then opened his eyes.  


  
With five of them bowing and greeting, it took a while to work their way across the meadow to the village. Chuck had heard the anthropologists talk about this custom; they thought it was like shaking hands in medieval England: a way to demonstrate that no one carried any weapons. Chuck wouldn't admit it, but he liked it and found their passage peaceful. No one would disturb them until they had crossed the bridge and greeted the sill and the transverse beam of the arch at the opposite side of the stream.  


  
A few older villagers came out to offer their own greetings to their homes, the trees, the threshold and the sill, but none crossed the river; they waited for the Atlantians. Chuck really liked this custom, he decided. By the time they'd crossed the river, he felt confident that these people meant them no harm, and he was sure they understood that of them.  


  
All went well. He went with Teyla to the communication center; his first time seeing it, but it looked exactly as Radek had described. The village was united with eight other villages -- nine being an important number in their cosmology, Radek had explained -- but the device was fading in clarity. It wasn't the most recent technology, more like a ham radio, and used big tubes that another village specialized in making. They'd replaced the tubes but to no avail, so Chuck settled in to start troubleshooting the problem.  


  
He was deep in thought, taking careful notes so he could report back to Radek, and his stomach had just growled when he heard shouting. At first he thought it was just a signal for lunch, but Teyla jumped up, her pretty face frowning, and he knew there was a problem.  


  
"Stay here," she commanded him. "Keep your sidearm ready."  


  
Chuck felt his mouth drop open in dismay, but he was soldier enough to check his weapon. He turned so he sat with his back to the communication device and watched as Teyla slid open the door a sliver and peered out. More shouting, and she slipped out the door, sliding it silently shut behind her.  


  
Now Chuck was alone on another planet while something noisy was going on that probably involved his friends and colleagues. He really didn't like that. He scooted to the door, tried to open it as noiselessly as Teyla had, and peeked out. He could hear a bit better but he saw nothing. Then the door was slammed into its pocket and two men stared in surprise at him. "Atlantian!" one said, and they grabbed him. "Come with us!" the first one demanded. Chuck didn't want to shoot anybody, especially people he was supposed to be helping, so he let them hurry him along toward all the noise.  


  
"I forgot, all right?" McKay was bellowing. "I'm sorry, I am really, truly, genuinely sorry, I am repentant and and, what am I, Sheppard?"  


  
"An asshole," the colonel snapped.  


  
"Yes, yes, an asshole, everybody knows, ask them!"  


  
"Please, Doctor, keep your voice down. We do not wish to offend the Stables," a tall woman said, but kindly. Chuck began to relax. He didn't think she meant to do them harm. "Now, before we go further, please greet the Stable of this place."  


  
For a heartbeat, Chuck thought that McKay would refuse; his face was dark with fury, but then Chuck realized he was angry at himself, and embarrassed, and irritated at the custom that he found so unnecessary. Chuck saw that she meant him to greet a lumpy, crumbling stone. Old sandstone, Chuck judged, brought here because it didn't look at all native to the land. Without thinking, he greeted it, closing his eyes, imagining how and why it had been carried here.  


  
When he stood back up and opened his eyes, the woman looked much happier. Then she put her hand on Chuck's head and he nearly fell over with surprise. "Despite the confusion, you alone greeted the stone without being instructed to. Why?"  


  
"Um." Chuck looked at the colonel, who subtly tilted his head; Chuck took that to mean he should talk. "It just looks old. Like it deserves, ah, reverence."  


  
She kept her hand on his head and beckoned to McKay, who stumped over to them and submitted to her placing her hand on his head, too. She really had to be over six feet tall, nearly as tall as Ronon, Chuck calculated, trying not to be weirded out by the situation.  


  
Resting her hands on the very top of their heads, she bent her head and was silent. Somehow Chuck knew she was greeting them, in the proper way for this place. He could feel something, but he didn't know what. The same buzzy feeling he got when he rubbed his hands together and then held them apart but by only a few centimeters. He closed his eyes.  


  
Beside him, he heard McKay sigh, and then settle down, his breathing slowing. No one spoke. A light wind pushed through the clearing, lightly stroking his face. He could hear the needles of the fir trees like the sighing of the ocean, and smelled the resin. The sun was warm on his face.  


  
Then she removed her hands and he opened his eyes. She was smiling at them. "Very good," she said, and bowed to them. Chuck bowed back and, after an instant's hesitation, McKay did, too. "Thank you both. Please, continue your work. We are honored you share your great knowledge with us."  


  
Well, if there was one way to please McKay, she'd hit on it. Chuck hid a grin, but saw the other members of McKay's team openly smiling. Colonel Sheppard slapped McKay on the back of his head, which started him off again. Ronon winked at Chuck and followed them. Teyla came to Chuck's side. "You did very well, Sergeant," she said. "Shall we complete the repairs?"  


  
"Yeah, yes, ma'am," he said, watching the others walk away. He glanced at the woman who had held his head, then bowed to her before letting Teyla lead him away. "Ms. Emmagan," he said when they were alone in the communication center, "what happened?"  


  
"I do believe that you averted a cultural misunderstanding," she said, but her eyes were laughing.   


  
"So you didn't marry McKay?" Luka asked, sounded disappointed. "Just bowed a bunch?"  


  
"Yup," Chuck said, and drained his mug. Luka refilled it, which meant he was satisfied with the answer, and they watched the vid, catcalling the characters and denigrating the plot.  


  
Afterward, when the party was tidying up the Great Room, Chuck carried out the dirty dishes. Ulrika helped him, humming the theme to the movie under her breath. When they stepped out of the transporter and returned the trays and mugs to the mess hall and put the napkins into the big laundry hamper, she said, "So what did that woman tell you when she let you go?"  


  
Chuck froze for a moment and then said, "What makes you think she said anything? I told you what happened."  


  
"And I believe you. But I also overheard Ronon telling Amelia that you and Doctor McKay were married. If you weren't married, what were you?"  


  
He shrugged, his mouth twisting in an annoyed smile. "Ah, I don't know," he said, but he already knew he'd tell her. She grinned at him; she already knew, too. "Okay. Let's get out of here, though." They left the mess hall proper and went out onto one of its large balconies. The night was fresh, smelling of the ocean, and a million stars glittered sharply overhead. He grabbed the balcony railing with both hands and leant back, looking up into the sky. "Maybe Ronon was right," he said at last, and they started to laugh. "I mean, not married, not really, but she did tell me to keep a closer eye on McKay."  


  
She had said, "I realize you have your own responsibilities and we are grateful for your assistance. But I'm sure you know that your partner is not the most observant of men. Perhaps in the future things could be arranged so you would remain with him rather than letting him wander unsupervised."  


  
"Unsupervised!" Ulrika said, and they laughed harder.  


  
"Yeah. Teyla says that means that Rodney can't go back unless I'm with him. He was so pissed. And the colonel smacked the back of his head again, the way he does." When they stopped laughing, Chuck said, "Actually, I think that lady knew. That she was trying to teach Rodney a lesson, and maybe the colonel, too. They always go everywhere together."  


  
"So you'll be a third wheel," Ulrika teased.  


  
"On Phoon I will," Chuck said, nodding sadly, but then they started to laugh again.  


  
They rested their arms along the railing, elbows touching, and Chuck thought how really nice it was to stand out here watching the starlight catch the curl of the slow and regular waves with a beautiful woman at his side. The silence was comfortable, but after a while he said, "Ah. Would you like to have dinner some time? I mean, just the two of us, not the whole crowd."  


  
"If your husband wouldn't object," she said, smiling at him.


	18. I send my soul through time and space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story a day for the month of January, 2009 (with three exceptions). Each day's story is posted as a chapter, but they are unrelated to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daniel Jackson/Jack O'Neill.

Daniel stared at the towering stained glass window behind the stargate. The gate he'd figured out how to open years ago and now, a decade later, that gate had brought him here to another galaxy and another stargate, larger and more ornate that the one he was used to.  


  
He walked toward it, lifting his head to see the arc rising above him. How at home it looked here in this massive light-filled room, as opposed to the ugly concrete hangar his stargate was housed in. This stargate, this room, was part of a larger system that had never been disrupted the way Earth's had been.  


  
On the far side of the stargate, the beautiful windows opened onto a balcony; he stepped out, surprised by the gust of air whooshing up from the ocean below. The air smelled wonderful here, not like any place he'd ever been. No ocean on Earth or Abydos had smelled like this. He leaned over the railing to see the great piers stretch out, cradling pools of seawater that glinted in the morning sun.  


  
He took a deep breath, then started when someone touched his shoulder. Jack.  


  
"Hey."  


  
"Hey."  


  
Jack stood beside him, sunglasses on, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. "Pretty cool."  


  
Daniel didn't answer. He wanted to absorb every sensation: the angle and quality of the light, the scent of the air, the sound of the water rolling against the piers and up their steps and down. A city sailing on the waters of another world, a city that had existed longer than any city on Earth. How much was here; he'd need a hundred lifetimes to discover even a part of it.  


  
He had been given a week. An Earth week, not an Atlantean week.  


  
"Daniel," Jack said, but Daniel jerked away, pointedly ignored him in preference to the feel of the morning sunshine on his face. He heard Jack sigh, felt him step nearer, warmining his back with his presence. After a moment, Daniel felt him leave. He let Jack get whether he might go within the city before he went indoors to find the lab set aside for his use during his stay.  


  
Sam came to see him. "I knew you'd forget lunch," she said, smiling at him. They embraced; his sister of his heart even now after all these years and all that had happened. "We can eat in the mess hall, or in my quarters, on the balcony if you'd rather be alone."  


  
"I'd like that," he admitted, shutting down his laptop. "Just the two of us?"  


  
"Just the two of us," she promised, "and I'll make arrangements for a coffee maker to be set up here. Sorry I forgot about it."  


  
"Oh, I almost forgot," he said. "Cassie made cookies. The kind Janet used to make us. I brought them."  


  
"We'll have an afternoon tea," Sam said. "Now, tell me any gossip you've heard lately."  


  
"You mean what Vala's been up to," he said dryly, and they laughed at their former teammate.  


  
When they'd settled around the table on her balcony and Daniel had taken a bite of the pasta and salad, Sam said, "Is there a reason you can't stay here?"  


  
"Jack," he said abruptly, and took another mouthful.  


  
"Jack," she repeated.  


  
"Wants me on Earth. At the SGC."  


  
"I could ask him," she offered.  


  
"It wouldn't do any good," he assured her. The sun was warm on his shoulders; he scooted his chair away from the table and stretched out a bit, looking upwards, closing his eyes. She said no more about it.  


  
He worked late in the lab, and was there early the next morning, determined to spend every waking minute delving into the database, drawing up plans of where in the city to visit. He felt the pressure of the clock, as heavy as gravity. He saw Sam almost daily, but she was busy with her work. McKay dropped by twice; they were old friends and argued cheerfully and with long practice. The second time he was accompanied by Colonel Sheppard, whom Daniel had only met a few times, but he enjoyed watching the two of them spar. He missed having that kind of friend.  


  
On his sixth day in the great city, he decided to work all night and just sleep wherever he found himself. He had found mention in the database of a library, a room no one had visited yet. By judicious use of the transporter system and several long walks, he found himself in the general area; now he had to locate the specific room. The people writing in the database had known where the library was, so they'd had no need to give precise directions. Nor did he know what an Ancient library would look like. Scrolls? Inculabula? Illuminated manuscripts? The Ancient equivalent of flashdrives? His curiosity pushed him on despite his exhaustion, and he slowly paced the corridors hunting for clues.  


  
"Bit late, isn't it?"  


  
"Jack, Jesus, you startled me. What are you doing out here?"  


  
Jack shrugged. "Checking up on you. Haven't seen you in days."  


  
"It's a big city."  


  
"It is." He watched Daniel, who thought about arguing with him, but it was too late, he was too tired, and there was still too much to be done. He returned to his task. "What're you looking for?" Jack finally asked.  


  
Daniel stared at his notes, rubbed his nose, and said, "Do you really care?"  


  
"Dammit, Daniel --"  


  
"No, no, see Jack, you do not get to say things like that anymore. As long as I work for the SGC, I work for you, and you won't let me stay in Atlantis. If I quit the SGC, I won't be able to work in Atlantis. It's really quite perfect. I'm sure you have your reasons, but after so long, I don't care. So just -- go. Go." He turned away, took a deep breath. When he felt Jack's hand on his arm, he pulled away, but Jack caught him again. "I'm not that kid anymore," he said, looking into Jack's eyes. "I can knock you on your ass now."  


  
"I'd rather you didn't," Jack said, but he didn't let go or move away.  


  
They stood frozen like that. Daniel felt as if he were radiating anger; he couldn't understand why Jack wouldn't leave him alone. It must be the same reason he wouldn't let him stay in Atlantis, he thought bitterly. "Fuck you," he finally said, and jerked his arm free.  


  
Jack put his arms around Daniel, holding him from behind, but gently. Daniel, to his surprise, didn't struggle. He closed his eyes and swallowed away the long-growing anger, his sorrow, his disappointment. "Let me talk," Jack finally said.  


  
"You never talk," Daniel pointed out. It was true; it was the pattern they'd adopted long ago. Daniel talked for them both, but he was talked out now.  


  
"Well, maybe it's time," Jack said. He shifted his posture and then he was hugging Daniel, his breath warm against the back of Daniel's neck. Daniel shuddered. "Usually you know what's going on with me, so I don't have to talk." Daniel remained silent. "Not this time, I guess."  


  
"Not for a long time," Daniel snapped, then vowed to remain quiet.  


  
"No. Well, me, neither. Too long. I kept, I don't know, the old habits die hard. You'd always been there and solved the problem. I counted on that. But then I think I got to be the problem." Daniel shrugged, but he didn't pull away. Atlantis was chilly at night, and Jack was warm against him. "Sara would tell you that I take things -- people -- for granted."  


  
"I'm not Sara," Daniel pointed out.  


  
"Yeah, noticed that about you." Jack shifted again, and Daniel slid around so they faced each other. "Liked that about you, too." He gently pulled Daniel closer.  


  
Daniel was tired. He'd worked impossibly long hours while on Atlantis, but more than that, he was tired of whatever was between him and Jack. When Jack rested his cheek against Daniel's, he sighed, and leaned against him. Jack began to hum something tuneless, a breathy buzzy noise that soothed Daniel. He remembered that noise from years before, when they'd had to spend the night on another planet. Jack would sometimes hum to himself while preparing for bed. The sound brought back memories of long nights in strange places, of writing his journal by firelight while Jack or Teal'c or Sam sat watch.  


  
"Why," he finally said, almost not a question. "When I want this so much."  


  
Jack stopped humming. He rested his head against Daniel's shoulder, a gesture shocking to Daniel, who involuntarily held Jack tighter. "I cannot let you go," Jack said, barely audibly.  


  
"Then come with me. Stay with me," Daniel whispered back just as softly. He held his breath waiting for an answer.  


  
For a long time, Jack didn't answer. Then he sighed and raised his head, and rested one hand against Daniel's face. "If I say yes," he said, and he sounded almost in pain to Daniel, "if I do that, will you stay with me?"  


  
Daniel felt nearly dizzy with shock. All their years together and Jack had never said such a thing. What they had -- what they had had -- was silent and secret. When Daniel didn't answer, Jack frowned. "I don't know if I can get permission to retire here," he finally said.  


  
Daniel hugged him. "Idiot," he said. "We'll figure something out. In the meantime, let's stay for a while. Tell them you think I'm onto something. Tell them anything. Just stay."  


  
"What'll I tell Sam? Sheppard?"  


  
"Sam will be happy; you know that. Sheppard doesn't matter. You know he won't care. As long as you don't take over the city."  


  
"What would I do? Supposing I don't decide to take over the city."  


  
"Help me. Stay with me. Give us time to figure this out."  


  
"I'm old, Daniel. No, be quiet; it's true. And you know old dogs have trouble learning new tricks."  


  
"There's nothing new here, Jack. It's your old tricks I want."  


  
A small smile lifted the corner of Jack's mouth. "So what, we just stay here for a while? Trust we'll figure out the next step?"  


  
"Isn't that what we've always done? Before you became a bureaucrat, I mean."  


  
"Fuck you."  


  
This time, Daniel smiled, and raised his eyebrows. "That's open for negotiation," he said.  


  
Jack rubbed his head. "You drive me crazy," he said. "Ever since I met you."  


  
"Yeah, well, you make me pretty crazy, too." To his surprise, he yawned, and that made Jack yawn. "I guess I am tired." They stared at each other, and for the first time in years, Daniel felt as if he were communicating with Jack silently, the way they'd used to. Without speaking again, they made their way back to the nearest transporter, the old ring technology, Daniel thought, and from there they made their way back to Daniel's quarters. "Come in," Daniel said. This would be the test. He stood aside and waited.  


  
Jack stood for a long time, one hand on the door frame. The night was utterly quiet this late; they might be the only people on Atlantis. Then Jack stepped inside, letting the doors slide shut behind him.  


  


* * *

  


  
Title from "To a Poet a Thousand Years Hence," by James Elroy Flecker:  


  
I who am dead a thousand years,  
And wrote this sweet archaic song,  
Send you my words for messengers  
The way I shall not pass along.

I care not if you bridge the seas,  
Or ride secure the cruel sky,  
Or build consummate palaces  
Of metal or of masonry.

But have you wine and music still,  
And statues and a bright-eyed love,  
And foolish thoughts of good and ill,  
And prayers to them who sit above?

How shall we conquer? Like a wind  
That falls at eve our fancies blow,  
And old Maeonides the blind  
Said it three thousand years ago.

O friend unseen, unborn, unknown,  
Student of our sweet English tongue,  
Read out my words at night, alone:  
I was a poet, I was young.

Since I can never see your face,  
And never shake you by the hand,  
I send my soul through time and space  
To greet you. You will understand.


	19. in each other all along

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story a day for the month of January, 2009 (with three exceptions). Each day's story is posted as a chapter, but they are unrelated to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parrish/Evan Lorne.

"I'm not sure I agree, Doctor Parrish," Woolsey said, frowning into his coffee. "Atlantis has been on this planet, in this ocean, for over a year now. Why the sudden desire to explore it?"  


  
"Sir, it isn't sudden," Leo explained. "I also asked Colonel Carter, but she felt our situation hadn't stabilized enough. Now that the _Daedalus_ is bringing supplies regularly, and we have re-established trade relations with our friends in Pegasus, it seemed an appropriate time to renew my request."  


  
He watched Woolsey closely; he really wanted this approved. He found it absurd that they knew more about planets light years away than they did the one they were living on. He saw Woolsey look at Major Lorne, whose face was impassive. "Major?"  


  
"I'm not a scientist, sir," the major said. Evan, Leo reminded himself. This was his friend Evan, not just a military man. "But I find Doctor Parrish's argument persuasive. If only for security reasons, we should know what's on the planet."  


  
"Doctor McKay mentioned giant lizards when I arrived," Woolsey said. "But I'm never sure when to believe him."  


  
"Unfortunately, there are giant lizards," Leo said earnestly. "At the very least, we need to know what their predators are."  


  
"And two of you are enough? I would have thought you'd want a contingent of Marines to accompany you."  


  
"We have the puddlejumper," Evan said. "From what I understand, much of the work will be done from the air."  


  
This wasn't strictly true, but Leo saw no reason to mention it now. He was a botanist and needed to study the actual flora; how could he make the kind of discoveries he hoped to while hovering overhead? He and Evan had debated this at length, almost an argument, but he believed they'd reached a compromise that he could live with, at least for the first mission.  


  
"Colonel Sheppard?" Woolsey asked.  


  
The colonel shrugged. "I've discussed this with Lorne and McKay. They'll be near enough to return if something happens, and we could get to them quickly if needed. We should know what's on the planet. I'm hoping for blueberries, myself. I'm fond of blueberry pie."  


  
"I'll do my best," Leo promised.   


  
"Well, very well," Woolsey capitulated. "Four days, twice daily radio contact, return immediately if requested, stay off the ground as much as possible. Will that do, Doctor Parrish?"  


  
"It's an excellent start, sir," he said enthusiastically. "Thank you. Thank you, Colonel."  


  
"Thank Lorne," Sheppard said.  


  
"Thank you," Leo told him sincerely.   


  
Evan half-smiled and said, "We'll leave this evening. Be in the jumper bay by eighteen hundred."  


  
"Yes, I'll be ready." He was in fact already packed; he went out on missions often enough that he kept his supplies and tools in a pack. The uniforms they wore on Atlantis meant he didn't have to worry about clothing. He could leave right now if he had to, but he was glad he had a few hours to finalize his preparations. He also wanted to tell the others, solicit suggestions and recommendations from them. Also, Lisa Kiang had made a batch of her trail mix and had promised him a bag. When Woolsey dismissed them, Leo left right away, hurrying to the greenhouse in the hopes of finding her.  


  
"I'm going!" he announced when the doors slid back and the warm moist air rushed out. He loved the scent of the greenhouses: rich, mulchy, very sexy, he though; all those pistils and stamens, heavy with pollen, the abundant and enthusiastic sexuality. He was always brought up short when he first returned to the greenhouses, first by the sumptuous fragrance and the quality of the air against his face, and then by the sight of all the plants -- some from Earth, of course, others from all over the Pegasus galaxy. Here was a little heaven; here he could _see a world in a grain of sand and a heaven in a wild flower_.  


  
"To the pole?" Lisa asked. He nodded enthusiastically. "That's great news. Maybe if it's a success, they'll let more of us do more exploring."  


  
"Way to put the pressure on me," he said, but he agreed. They needed to do more exploring; that's why all of them had volunteered for Pegasus. He had been here since the beginning, when they thought they might have to grow their own food, so he had a special interest in learning more about the world they currently lived on.  


  
Wow. He didn't think he'd ever get over the notion that they _currently_ lived on one world, but could go to another. He'd worked for the SGC for some time and had been assigned to SG-12, but here on Atlantis, things were different and the first year or so botany rarely had had a chance to get off-world.  


  
"When are you leaving?" Augustin Swartz, the botany lab director, asked Leo.  


  
"After dinner. Because it's summer, so there's no dark," Leo explained.  


  
Augustin nodded. "Come with me," he said, rather mysteriously Leo thought, and hurried after him. Augustin stopped at his laptop and clicked a few keys; an image of the world they were on appeared. Only one landmass here, unlike most worlds Leo had visited, and most of it covered the north pole, with one section draping southward, so the continent looked like a vastly oversized Florida in shape. "Of course, you'll need to do a high-elevation fly-over the entire pole," he said. "And I know you know to focus more of your attention on the perimeter of the continent -- unless, of course, you spot something. But I'm really interested in the northernmost portion of this panhandle. We have some idea what the mainland is like nearest us, at forty north -- well, you've explored it yourself, and made interesting discoveries. It's the circumboreal floristic region we know the least about."  


  
"I know, Augustin," Leo replied, trying not to roll his eyes. "I'll make careful notes and take samples as often as possible." He tried to be patient, knowing that, like Radek Zelenka, Augustin disliked going off Atlantis. He would, and he had, if only to act as a model for the people he supervised. But to go for several days exploration, spending hours and hours in a puddlejumper, only able to stretch his legs in unknown territory -- Augustin was open in his dislike, less open in his fear. But to make up for these qualities, he was also open in his admiration and respect for the men and women in the lab who were eager for such opportunities. That was part of why he was good lab director, though his ability to manage people and time were also appreciated.  


  
"I know you know," Augustin said, but he smiled. "You'll do me the favor of not being eaten by a new species? Or poisoned? Or anything like that?"  


  
"I solemnly swear that I will do my best not to get up to any mischief," Leo said, and bumped Augustin's shoulder. "Now, what else do you have for me?" Because he knew Augustin well enough that he knew a more specific assignment was forthcoming.  


  
Evan Lorne was already in the jumper bay when Leo arrived toting a backpack of personal supplies and a duffel bag of equipment for the observations he hoped to be making. "Hey," Evan said, straightening up. "That all you're bringing? McKay'd have the jumper full and a trailer tied on."  


  
"Oh, Evan, you know you're exaggerating. Most of what I'll be doing is high altitude observations, anyway, though I do have places to land each day." Then he remembered that Evan would already know that. "Um."  


  
Evan grinned at him and they tucked the rest of the supplies away. He was pretty excited: the pole! Adventures of Cook, Peary and Henson, Byrd, Scott and Amundsen, all the wonderfully evocative names of exploration and adventure. He couldn't stop smiling and had a hard time not talking. Evan, as always, seemed quietly amused by his excitement, but Leo thought he too was pleased to be participating in the first polar exploration of their new home planet.  


  
The sun rose higher as Evan took the jumper up, reversing the day from evening to afternoon of high summer. Evan took them very high, above the clouds and then higher, so the sky above them was dark but beneath them was a tender blue so pure that Leo could hardly believe it hadn't been painted by Evan. Directly beneath them the sea darkened to a flinty blue, and Leo recognized cloud patterns: a collapsed thunderstorm, a squall line, and most spectacularly, sunglint. The peculiar angle of light revealed atmospheric gravity waves, and Leo quickly began photographing them. "Oh my god," he breathed, and from the corner of his eye saw Evan smile.  


  
They flew for hours, following the path that Leo and his colleagues had worked up for this expedition. When he finally yawned so hard his eyes watered, they were hovering over the pole, swimming in sunlight so brilliant his head hurt. "Well," Evan said. "I'm gonna put her in a geosynchronous orbit and have something to eat."  


  
"We're not going down?" Leo asked, rubbing his eyes.  


  
"Not till we get some food and rest," Evan said. "It's after midnight in Atlantis, you know."  


  
"No, I didn't," Leo said, surprised. He looked at his watch. It was true; they'd been at work for over six hours, and he'd been up another twelve. "I guess a break would be good."  


  
"I guess," Evan said, a teasing note in his voice.  


  
They dug out dinner that Evan had picked up from the mess hall packed in heat-retaining containers. Leo poured them both coffee from a huge thermos, and they settled on the floor of the back of the jumper on a thick quilt Leo had brought just for that purpose. They sat opposite each other, their backs against the benches, their legs stretched out side-by-side. For awhile they ate in silence, Leo mentally reviewing the agenda for the next few days. Surprising himself, he said, "It's been a long time since the days of SG-12." _What a doofus_ , he thought.  


  
"Yeah," Evan said slowly. "But things were changing. It just wasn't the same." He shrugged. "Not as much fun."  


  
Leo wondered if that was because the SGC was changing, or because he'd gone to Atlantis. He wasn't comfortable asking. "Uh-huh," he said. "I'm sorry to hear that."  


  
"Well. That's life. Although I was surprised that you went on the first expedition. I thought you had a partner. Stephen?"  


  
"William," Leo said. "I guess he was part of the reason I left. Things were pretty bad between us, and it was an easy way out."  


  
Evan laughed. "Yeah, going to another galaxy without knowing if you could return -- that's real easy."  


  
"You know what I mean," Leo said, but he laughed, too. "It wasn't as crazy as it sounds. I don't have any family, and it was such an opportunity -- I would hate to have missed it, even all the really scary parts."  


  
"So is this a happy ending?"  


  
"Oh, god, yes. The things I've seen, the discoveries we've made, the increase in knowledge has been worth every terrified moment. And most boring moments," he added, remembering a lot of sitting around waiting on other people to do stuff.   


  
Evan laughed. "Only you, Leo."  


  
Leo finally really looked at Evan, and smiled back. "Thank you for letting me be on your team again," he said. "It's not the same as SG-12, but it's a good group, I think. And I'm glad to be working with you again."  


  
"I am, too," Evan said. "You've changed a little. You seem happier. Higher energy, too, that's for sure."  


  
Leo made a face, and threw his balled-up napkin at Evan. "I am happier," he admitted. "Things were rough with William at the end, and you probably got some of that on our missions. And it's great here. You think so, too, don't you?"  


  
Evan shrugged, but he smiled, so Leo thought the answer was yes. "Why did you finally come out here?" he asked, and then wanted to sink through the jumper's floor.  


  
"Well, like you said, it wasn't the same. Things changed, and of course, with the _Daedalus_ making regular trips out here, I didn't have to leave my mom behind forever. And, well, I heard good things about Sheppard."  


  
"Good things? You heard good things about him at the SGC?"  


  
Evan and Leo both laughed. "Okay, not in any official way, but the Marines like him, and he gets along with McKay."  


  
"Yeah, go figure," Leo said, nodding his head. "Although Rodney has really changed," he said thoughtfully. "He's not the same, uh, guy at all."  


  
"Not the same asshole, you mean," Evan said sardonically. "You've all changed." He hesitated. "I think I've changed in the time I've been out here."  


  
"How so?" Leo asked. He found it difficult not to ask a hundred questions, and more difficult not to pour out his observations about Evan.  


  
"Well." Evan took a deep breath. Then he didn't say anything for a long time. Leo studied his face, familiar after many missions together. He'd seen Evan exhausted, ill, ebullient, drunk, bored, enraged, but mostly hidden behind his very good poker face. On SG-12, Evan had worked primarily as an engineer, often assisting with the difficult work of opening a naquadah mine. They'd done surveying together on several planets, and Evan had helped Leo gather specimens of plants suspected to have medicinal value.   


  
Then he hadn't seen him for several years, hadn't even thought of him for the first year. Life on Atlantis that first year had been too terrifying to sleep, let alone reminisce about a former teammate. But Leo had been glad to see Evan's face when he turned up on Atlantis. He hadn't even known that Evan was coming out -- no one thought a botanist would be interested in the arrival of more military personnel. And he wasn't usually, but this was Evan. They'd had some times together.  


  
Leo had almost forgotten what they were talking about when Evan suddenly said, "It's freer out here, you know? Just -- I mean, it's crazy, you never know what the hell will happen next, but that was true about the SGC as well. Maybe it's because we're so far from Earth, I don't know. But -- well, like my painting. I never let anybody at the SGC know I painted. Here, it doesn't matter. Everybody does weird things. My CO rides a skateboard, the chief science officer collects powerbars, his second-in-command is a chess master --"  


  
"I've heard him called a chess bastard," Leo put in, and Evan smiled at him.  


  
"Yeah, me, too. I don't know. It's like living in San Francisco. Everybody's a freak."  


  
Leo laughed, actually bending over and holding his stomach. "We are!" he said. "We really are, everyone of us!"  


  
"Freak," Evan said, smiling at him.  


  
Leo raised his hands. "No argument from me. I've been freaky since I was a kid. That's a big part why I like it here. You're right. Everybody is a freak in one way or another."  


  
"It's like being at home," Evan said. "Who are you going to be when you're at home?"  


  
Together, they said, "Yourself." Leo nodded heartily. "It's good. I'll tell you something that I've never told anyone. I don't want to go back to Earth. I'd rather stay out here forever."  


  
Evan looked at him curiously, and asked, "What'll you do if they call us back again?"  


  
"Fuck, I hated that," Leo said. He rarely swore and had surprised himself. "If it happens again, I think I'd ask Teyla if I could stay with the Athosians. I could help. I know about planting cycles, and I'm a hard worker. I bet she'd let me stay. And I bet others would stay, too. No one says anything, but those of us who came out that first year -- not a lot of us would go back willingly."  


  
Eva nodded thoughtfully, and gazed out the windscreen. Leo turned his head to watch. Evan had parked the jumper so they could see the world beneath them, a gentle arc of blue and white and pewter. The planet oscillated much less than Earth, but enough that there were distinct summers at each pole. This time of year, the land beneath them remained in light, even though they could see the darkness swelling around half the world below it. The scene was extraordinarily beautiful, he thought. Like a painting.  


  
He glanced back at Evan. "I don't want to go back, either," Evan said quietly. Without thinking, Leo reached forward and rested his hand over Evan's where it lay on his thigh. Then he realized what he'd done and started to pull away, but Evan caught him. They stared at each other.  


  
Drawing on all his courage, Leo said, "I wouldn't want you to go."  


  
Evan raised an eyebrow, looking his usual wry self, but didn't release Leo's hand. "Well," he said, and nodded. For nearly a minute they sat there, Evan holding Leo's hand, gently stroking his palm, massaging his fingers. "Well," he said again more softly.  


  
Leo leaned forward more and took hold of Evan's hand with both of his. "I'm reading a lot into this moment," he said.   


  
"Well," Evan said one final time, "maybe you should. How would you feel about that?"  


  
"We're all freaks out here," he said, grinning, and scooted over to sit next to Evan, who folded his legs so that sat bumping knees. "I didn't know you, uh. Hi."  


  
"Hi," Evan said, lifting his head so their faces were very near. "Yeah, I, uh."  


  
"And you already know that I, uh."  


  
"Figured that out years ago."  


  
Leo grew impatient. He shoved their empty meal containers back in the box and put it up on the seat behind Evan. Then he grabbed Evan's hands again and lay down, pulling Evan with him, their heads toward the front of the jumper so when he looked up, he could see the planet beneath them. "It's so beautiful," he said, and rolled his head so their foreheads touched. He could feel Evan's warm breath against his face.   


  
"This is pretty great," Evan said. "Being here, good food, good plans, good company."  


  
If I grin any harder, Leo thought, the top of my head's gonna fall off. But he couldn't stop; this was so cool, lying here in a puddlejumper high above an alien world -- no, no, he told himself; high above his home world, with Evan, his old friend Evan, in his arms being goofy. "I don't know what this is," Leo finally said, "but I'm gonna make a guess." He kissed Evan, lightly first, then more firmly, almost hypnotized by the sensation of Evan's lips against his, Evan's skin against Leo's, and he was warm lying there, warm and happy. Gently, Evan rolled Leo onto his back and straddled him; Evan slid his arms around Evan's back and his hands on Evan's butt, pulling them closer. Jesus, it felt good, he thought.   


  
Suddenly Evan sat up. Leo made a face. "What?"  


  
"I don't want to be a girl about this," Evan said. Leo bumped his hips up; no way was Evan a girl was his message. "Okay, let me rephrase that. We've been friends a long time --"  


  
"Eight years," Leo said, precise as ever. "I've thought about this, Evan; don't doubt it. But either get on with it, or get off me."  


  
"I'd rather get you off," Evan said, leaning back down.  


  
"Okay," Leo said happily. "Ditto."  


  
Evan kissed him, sliding back down so they were chest to chest again, Leo's hips rising to meet Evan's as they pushed together; the pressure felt so good. William had turned into a jerk, and Leo had had only a couple of very casual encounters on Atlantis, and one fast fuck when last on Earth, but this was Evan. Leo really did know him. He was from San Francisco, he painted, he was in his thirties and not married: do the fucking math, Leo, he scolded himself, and then relaxed into Evan's kisses. "Wow," Evan murmured. "I should've done this years ago."  


  
Leo smacked his shoulder, and kissed him again. "Yeah," he said between kisses. "What freaks we were."

* * *

The minute I heard my first love story,  
I started looking for you, not knowing  
how blind that was.

Lovers don't finally meet somewhere,  
they're in each other all along.   


  
\--Rumi


	20. Daguerreotype

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story a day for the month of January, 2009 (with three exceptions). Each day's story is posted as a chapter, but they are unrelated to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John Sheppard; Rodney McKay; Teyla Emmagan; Ronon Dex.

"This will be large day, gentlemen," Colonel Maisuradze said, and clapped his hands sharply. The gentlemen were his off-world team, comprised of one another man and two women, but no one complained; they all saluted, turned on their heels and waited just outside the stargate's splash zone. "Lieutenant Colonel," Maisuradze said genially as John and Rodney walked past them.  


  
"Colonel," John said, nodding his head. "Good hunting."  


  
"Asshole Russian," Rodney said _sotto voce_ when they'd left the gateroom.  


  
"He's not Russian; he's Georgian," John said, but by now it was rote.  


  
"I don't care if he's Santa Claus; why does he always stress the _lieutenant_ part of your title? And why you are still a lieutenant colonel, anyway? Who makes these idiotic decisions? And speaking of idiotic decisions, how'd he become a colonel?"  


  
"His title is _polkovnik_ ," John said, and sighed, long suffering and patient, but really he was pleased that Rodney was irritated on his behalf. In truth, he was, too, but he had the burden of being Atlantis' commander no matter what his title was. Rodney continued muttering to himself.  


  
"Hey, guys," John greeted Ronon and Teyla as they waited for them in the corridor outside the shooting range. John waved the doors open, and the range master looked up.  


  
"Colonel!" Lars Jespersen greeted them. "Right on time."  


  
"What've you got for us today, Staff Sergeant?" John asked, studying the weapons Jespersen had organized.  


  
"Ah. Something new to Atlantis." He picked up the clunky-looking weapon. "This is the DSR 50 sniper rifle with blast compensator installed."  


  
"It looks like something a kid would make," Rodney said, frowning at it.  


  
Jespersen shook his head, a slight smile on his lips. "I doubt you'll think so after you've used it, Doctor."  


  
John nudged Rodney with his elbow, and Rodney squawked, "Me? Hell, no. Let Ronon go first. He's practically drooling."  


  
Ronon did look extremely interested and a bit puzzled as he studied the DSR 50. "Not much like the weapons we used in the Sateda military," he growled, one hand on his blaster.  


  
"Well, no, sir," Jespersen said. "But this is from Earth, a Tau'ri weapon, doncha know, and we do things differently. I don't doubt that your blaster is an excellent weapon, but this is designed for sniper work."  


  
Ronon's eyebrows shot up, and he nodded. " Yeah," he said, and he reached out.  


  
"Over here, now, sirs and ma'am," Jespersen explained. He led them to the far side of the range where two tripods were already set up. From a pouch, he removed two spotting scopes. "Now, Doc, you might be interested in these. A combination of Milky Way and Pegasus technology."  


  
"Ah, yes," Rodney said, nodding. John watched, arms crossed; Ronon stepped closer to Rodney and Jespersen. "XPP-492."  


  
"That's the one. Started with a Swarovski Z6i, but reworked the optics with 492's technology so the magnification remains at sixty regardless of almost any atmospheric conditions."  


  
Teyla looked up at Ronon, who said, "That possible?"  


  
"It shouldn't be," Rodney said, "but 492 -- that's in the Milky Way -- figured out some way to get around the drop-off. And MUN-744 here in Pegasus contributed the glass, I believe."  


  
"That's right, sir. Highest performance glass known."  


  
"Well, all right," John said, straightening. "Let's get to it. Teyla, start by acting as Ronon's spotter. McKay, I'll be yours."  


  
"Great. I get to be the sniper."  


  
Jespersen beamed at him. "Wait'll you feel this baby, Doc. Easy-peasy." John tried not to laugh at the look on Rodney's face, but he knelt and then lay prone on the shooting pad. "Ten minutes for the sighter, no more," Jespersen called, handing out elbow pads and ear and eye protection. "Load and make ready."  


  
"Fuck me," Rodney said. Teyla smacked the back of his head from where she knelt next to him.  


  
"Rodney, you are going to forget one day and say that in front of Torren," she scolded him. John snickered.  


  
Rodney was still grumbling when they left the shooting range, Staff Sergeant Jespersen tidying the cold range behind them. "Gettin' better," Ronon told him, squeezing Rodney's elbow. Rodney straightened up, still rubbing his right hand.  


  
"Why practice so long? We're not snipers," he said for the fifteenth time.  


  
"Because," John said quellingly. "Okay, good work, everybody. We got a shipment of zats in from the SGC, so next time we'll work with those."  


  
"Why do we not use the zats in the field?" Teyla asked.  


  
John shrugged. "I never understood why they didn't bring them with us when we first came through," he said. "I'd never even seen one until fairly recently. But yeah, they're good stuff."  


  
"You think we'll ever -- no, no, never mind," Rodney said, speaking more rapidly than usual. "If I ask that, it'll just bring bad luck."  


  
"Superstitious?" John asked.  


  
"Aren't you?" Rodney said. "Okay, I'm gonna wash the blow-back off me. Dinner?"  


  
"Nineteen hundred," John said, waving at him. Ronon headed off toward his quarters, leaving John and Teyla walking toward theirs. "What did you think, Teyla?"  


  
She pursed her lips. "I found it a bit meditative," she said at last. "Though far noisier than my usual meditation."  


  
"Yeah, yeah, I get that. You have to be very in the moment, very focused."  


  
"Exactly. It gave me much satisfaction to watch the three of you work so diligently on this task."  


  
"Um. Thanks."  


  
"Staff Sergeant Jespersen reminds me of my first dance teacher."  


  
John felt his eyebrows rise. "Ah?"  


  
"Yes. His patience, his humor. A pleasant man to be around and yet one who knows his work extremely well."  


  
"That's Jespersen."  


  
"We are fortunate to have him." They came to her doors. Teyla put her hands on John's shoulders, and he bent his head to hers, breathing quietly for a few seconds.   


  
"Will we see you at dinner?" he asked when they'd stepped apart.  


  
"I think not," she said. "Tomorrow at breakfast, though."  


  
"Good night."  


  
"Sleep safe and well, John." She slipped through the doors; John heard Torren's happy cry and Kanaan's deep greeting before they slid shut again. He tried not to envy her, but going to his office for ninety minutes of so of work, and then to his quarters for a shower, he felt unusually alone.  


  
En route to the mess hall, he heard Amelia's voice in his ear requesting his presence in the gateroom. "Colonel Maisuradze has dialed in," she said, calm and professional. He took off at a jog; if it had been an emergency, Amelia would had said.  


  
Maisuradze's round face was on the monitors at the control stations, looking impatient and improbably cheerful. There's a lot of static -- no, John realized that it's snowing wherever he is (PNX-925, he knows, he knows) and snowing hard. "Colonel," he said into his mic.  


  
"Ah, Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard," Maisuradze said, peering into the camera's lens as if he could see John. "The Xinerans have asked for you. For your team, actually. They were quite taken with you all."  


  
"That's nice," John said slowly. "I'm sure you can handle the situation."  


  
"They are an amiable people," Maisuradze replied. "I would not wish to disappoint them."  


  
John thought about rounding up the others and taking them into that snow. Ronon would enjoy it, no doubt. Rodney would whine and kibitz and probably be rude to the Xinerans. And he hated the idea of pulling Teyla away from her family.  


  
"Colonel," he said, shaking his head, but Maisuradze interrupted him.  


  
"I know we have had our differences, sir," and that honorific was new. "But I would not ask if it were not important." He hesitated, then said, "Please."  


  
John tried not to pout, but he really, really didn't want to go. "In an hour," he finally said. When Maisuradze's face disappeared from the monitor, he added, "Shit."  


  
"Shall I contact the others?" Amelia offered.  


  
"I'll do it. No use you getting your head bit off."  


  
"Thank you, sir," she said, and he thought she sounded sincere.  


  
He decided to start with Ronon, since he already knew he'd take it well. Ronon was in the mess hall, halfway through his meal. Rodney and Radek were with him, talking more than eating.  


  
"Watching your girlish figure?" Rodney asked when John sat next to Ronon. He took a big bite of the chicken and rice on his plate. It smelled pretty good.  


  
"We gotta go to PNX-925," he said. Might as well get it out and over.  


  
"Oh, that is where Otar's team is, yes?" Radek said, sipping coffee. "Are they all right?"  


  
"Yeah, he says they're okay. Just that the Xinerans want to see us. Us being us," he said to Rodney. "I said we'd be there in an hour."  


  
"Tonight?" Rodney's voice jumped a fifth. "Oh, no. I have work to do. Radek --"  


  
"Yes, yes, Rodney, you have work. But it can wait. I will work on the problem tonight and have it written up for you for when you return."'  


  
"There, see?" John said brightly. "Tonight we'll go to 925, tomorrow you can finish the problem."  


  
"Hardly finish," Rodney said, scowling at him. "Who's going?"  


  
"All four of us. I hope. I haven't asked Teyla yet."  


  
"Kanaan'll kick your ass," Ronon said.  


  
"Yeah, I'm afraid of that," John said. "Listen, I'm gonna grab a bite to eat, then maybe you'll come with me to see her. Also, dress warm. It looked like it was snowing pretty good there."  


  
"Shit," Rodney said. Radek patted his hand but just said, "You must hurry if you want the chicken in sherry sauce."  


  
"Chicken in sherry"?  


  
"Well, not really chicken and not really sherry, but quite good."  


  
It was good, John thought, eating rapidly while he listened to Rodney grouse. Fortunately, Lorne came by and they had a brief conference before John had to ask Teyla to come. Time was moving fast, so he hurried back to her quarters, hesitating a moment before knocking. He hoped he wouldn't wake Torren.  


  
Kanaan came to the door. As soon as he saw John, he made a face. Teyla came up behind him carrying Torren, who rested his head sleepily on her shoulder. "I'm sorry," John said to them. "It's just that Colonel Maisuradze asked for us to go to PHX-925 right away. Apparently the Xinerans want to see us."  


  
"Very well," Teyla said. John couldn't tell if she was irritated or not. "I must change; it is winter there."  


  
"Yeah, no shi-- yeah, and snowing pretty good. I _am_ sorry."  


  
"It is all right, John," Kanaan said. "We know you would not ask otherwise."  


  
"Yeah. Thanks. Um, gateroom in twenty?"  


  
"Of course."  


  
He ran to his own quarters and showered quickly, then dressed in layers. He was sweating before he left his room, even though he was carrying half his layers. He put the rest on in the locker-room, then his tac vest and weapons, just as Rodney came in, grumbling loudly. He helped Rodney dress in more layers, and made sure his weapons and laptop were strapped on firmly. Ronon arrived with Teyla, both still pulling jumpers and scarves on. Lorne came in as well, followed by Carter, her hair in a sloppy braid, her nose red. "Stay away, stay away!" Rodney screeched, literally backing away from her.  


  
"Sorry," Carter said. "I'll watch from my office." She sneezed, and John made a face.  


  
"I cannot afford the time to be sick," Rodney growled at her. Ronon put his hand on the back of Rodney's neck and guided him around Carter. Teyla followed, smiling apologetically at her, and John tipped a sloppy salute, but he stayed away, too.  


  
"Thanks, sir," Lorne called after him, standing with arms akimbo. "No offense, ma'am," John heard him add to Carter. She sneezed, and John shooed his team away even faster.  


  
"Chuck," he called up. "Dial PHX-925."  


  
"Yes, sir," Chuck called back, and within a few seconds the backwash flooded out, still amazing John after all these years, and they hurried through the horizon, into the endless cold of space and time before stumbling awkwardly into the snow flying on PHX-925. At least the wormhole had evaporated the mounds of snow directly before the gate, but all around them were knee-high clumps of damp and sticky snow.  


  
"All right, where's that Russian guy?" Rodney asked. "Colonel Maisuradze!"  


  
"Georgian," John said, looking around. It was dark, but the thick stars reflected off the snow, giving this world a deep blue glow. The gate was in a bowl-shaped valley; the Xinerans lived in the rocks at the rim of the bowl, off to the side of the stargate. "At least it's stopped snowing. Might as well hike their way," John said.   


  
Though everyone carried military-issued Streamlights, John's team carried Surefire M6s, which he'd paid for. John took point and Ronon their six, with Teyla guiding Rodney while he studied his LSD. "People coming our way," he announced when they were no more than a hundred yards away from the gate. "Five, six of them. Six, yeah."  


  
John clicked his radio on. "Colonel Maisuradze, this is John Sheppard. Come in."  


  
"Lieutenant Colonel," Maisuradze's voice said in John's ear. He also heard Rodney sigh with annoyance. "Sorry we were not there to meet you. Large day here in PHX-925. Very busy."  


  
"Yes, well, I'm very busy as well, Colonel," Rodney snapped. "So let's get this show on the road. Why have you called us here?"  


  
"To see something," he said. "We will take you there."  


  
"I'm not sure I like all this mystery," John said, a warning in his voice.  


  
"Yes, I know, very unprofessional of me," Maisuradze replied, and then all were silent, moving toward each other. In another ten minutes, they'd met, and Maisuradze introduced the Xinerans who'd come along with two members of his team. "Tchesandromace," he said, gesturing toward a tall thin man, "and his sister, Ebberluhsoy."  


  
"Please to meet you,"John said hoping he sounded sincere. "What can we do for you?"  


  
"You knew our father," Ebberluhsoy announced. "Back when you were here before. Tchezindnachsoyde."  


  
"Ah, yes?" John tried to remember who they'd met when they'd made first contact. He looked at Teyla, but her brows were creased in thought. "This is Teyla Emmagen, daughter of Tagan, our diplomatic liaison," he finally said. "Teyla?"  


  
"I am sorry to admit that I do not remember a Tchezindnachsoyde when we were last here," she said. John admired her pronunciation.  


  
"Yes, of course, because it has not happened for you yet, but when you were here last," Ebberluhsoy insisted.   


  
John looked at Maisuradze, who shrugged. "The families have been quite insistent. We thought it best you returned."  


  
"Come, come," Tchesandromace said, taking John's hand. "We are anxious to learn more about our father and his time."  


  
"Rodney?" John asked over his shoulder as he permit himself to be tugged along.  


  
"Yes, Tschandre, uh, you, when did this happen?"  


  
"Oh, before we were born."  


  
"I'm sorry," Rodney said, not sounding sorry at all, "but I wasn't even in this galaxy when you were born. Why do you think we were here?"  


  
"Because you were. We have found plates of you."  


  
"Plates," Rodney said. He looked at John.  


  
"Guess we'll find out," he said. He noticed that Ronon looked a bit freaked, so he reached back and lightly touched Ronon's arm.  


  
"Be glad to get home," Ronon said, and that was all.  


  
Soon John could see the lights of the Xinerans' homes gleaming through the rocks. He could hear voices and smell something good cooking, like roasting meat. He sniffed appreciatively. "We have prepared a welcome feast for you," Ebberluhsoy explained, and hurried even fast. "They are here!" she cried, and an opening cracked in the rocks, light blazed out along with more voices and music.   


  
"Little party is good, yes?" Maisuradze said, looking cheerful. "My feet are cold." He led them into the rocks, where the warmth made John sweat and the brilliant light hurt his eyes after the cold blue of their hike. "The Xinerans might be a little, ah _mtvrali_ , drunk -- they are excited you are here. I myself am very interested in this situation."  


  
"What situation is that, Colonel?" John asked, tired of the mystery. Maisuradze gestured toward the brother and sister.  


  
"Drink, drink," Tchesandromace urged them, handing round steaming bowls of what John knew was a kind of sloe gin heated and sweetened. He accepted a bowl and waited for the rest of the crowd to begin shouting, " _Keras, keras_!" He wasn't sure what the literal meaning was, but he knew when the shout was loudest to down the hot gin all at once. He gasped for breath.  


  
"Oh hell," Rodney panted. His face was bright red.   


  
" _T'k'bili_ ," Misuradze breathed, and sighed gustily. He held out his bowl to Tchesandromace and said, " _K'argia, k'argi_ , Tchesa."  


  
"Why doesn't the gate work on his words? Or Zelenka's?" Ronon asked John quietly, sipping his bowl of _keras_. John shrugged, and held out his bowl for more.  


  
"No one really understands," Rodney said, sticking his arm between John and Ronon to get more drink. Teyla was sipping hers demurely, watching them. "Daniel Jackson has a lot of theories, but none of them makes sense to me."  


  
"You a linguist now, too?" John asked, knowing Rodney would turn even redder.  


  
"You must come, please," Ebberluhsoy said firmly, and led them through the boisterous crowd, through a narrow, well-lit corridor, and into another room full of laughing and drinking people. Along one wall was a bookcase that stretched to the high ceiling, or maybe shelves built straight into the wall. Ebberluhsoy pulled out a carved box about the size of John's _War and Peace_. The top slid off and inside, John saw what looked like old-fashioned photographs.   


  
She handed him one, holding it carefully by its edges. He bent his head over it, and felt the others crowd around him. The photograph, or whatever it was, was heavy but fragile feeling, as if it would fragment in his hand. The image was dark, a silvery tinge to the faded black. As John studied it, he realized there were five people arranged formally: a tall thin man in the middle, clearly Xineran, and two shorter people on either side of him. On the man's left were Ronon and Teyla, and on his right, looking sternly into the camera, was John and, leaning against his shoulder, Rodney.  


  
"Christ," he whispered.   


  
"Who is that?" Rodney demanded.  


  
"Our father when he was a young man."  


  
"Makes no sense," Ronon growled. He bent over the photo. "This a joke?" He glared at Ebberluhsoy, but she stood her ground.  


  
"My father just joined the Ancestors," she said. John saw her eyes fill with tears. She swallowed and said, "He survived _them_ , and he rescued us all, brought us to this safe haven. My brother and I were sorting his possessions to give to his friends and family and found this. We recognized you at once."  


  
"Father told us we could trust you," Tchesandromace said. "He knew from the moment you came through the gate. Now we know why. He did know."  


  
Rodney snatched the photograph from John's hands, holding it up to the light, angling it this way and that. "Looks like a daguerreotype," he said. "And see the scratches and smudges? But look how we fit together." He handed it back, shaking his head. "Maybe it's Photoshopped?"  


  
"May I see?" Teyla asked. John handed her the picture.  


  
She took is gently and peered at it. "I have seen these before. They are called _trahere_." Raising her head to study John, she said, "My own father had one as well."  


  
"What? With us?" Rodney asked. He gulped more _keras_.  


  
"I do not recall," Teyla said. "I have not seen it for many years." She handed the _trahere_ back to Ebberluhsoy. "How long ago was this made?"  


  
"We don't know, but before Father met our mother. We have no images of her, but her younger brother assures us that Father was older when he first came to our village."  


  
"I don't suppose we can borrow this, have it tested?" John asked. Ebberluhsoy's eyes grew wide and her mouth hardened. "No, of course not."  


  
"I've got it," Rodney said, and began taking shots of it with his little digital camera, the one Jeannie had sent him for his birthday. "Put it up next to your face," he ordered Teyla. "In fact, all of you, crowd in." They obeyed, for once without complaining, while he clicked away.   


  
When John noticed Ebberluhsoy and Tchesandromace began to look even more pained, he put his hand up and stopped Rodney. "Thank you for sharing this with us," he said, a bit more formally than he was comfortable with. Teyla bowed, and then Ronon and Rodney as well.   


  
"Lieutenant Colonel," Maisuradze said, striding through the crowd when they returned from the inner room. "Was I not right to ask you to come?"  


  
"Yeah, you were right, Colonel," John said. "Listen, you worked for the SGC before coming to Atlantis. You ever hear of anything like this?"  


  
"Moving through time? Coming back, going forward? Lieutenant Colonel, you yourself know these things." He grinned, and toasted John with his bowl of steaming _keras_. "Once you believe in stargate? Everything possible." He stretched out his arms, careful not to jostle the bowl. "Everything possible!"  


  
"Yeah, yeah," Rodney said. "We came all this way; let's get something to eat."


	21. Anthroponymy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story a day for the month of January, 2009 (with three exceptions). Each day's story is posted as a chapter, but they are unrelated to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John Sheppard/Rodney McKay.

John watches the stargate's softly undulating surface, its blue light filling the cavernous gateroom. What a weird, amazing, alien _thing_ it was. He thinks this most of the times he stands before that surface. Then he leads the way through. Rodney jumps out first, though, as if he'd leapt past John. Ronon leaps out, flying past John to land ahead of Rodney, and finally Teyla dances out, holding Kanaan's hand, laughing at the sight of her teammates. John turns in a circle, orienting himself, and relaxes.  


  
It's a beautiful day on PX3-707, he thinks, setting his hands on his hips and leaning back to look at the sun surrounded by three moons at ten, two, and six. His attention is pulled away when Ronon roars and begins bounding across the meadow toward a circle of people -- a group of almost a hundred Satedans who have settled on his world. They cheer and some run toward him. Teyla laughs again, and Rodney, too, and John can't help but duck his head and chuckle.  


  
Rodney grabs his arm and tugs him after Ronon and Teyla, toward the Satedans, so few in number, but full of the same vigor as Ronon . "If we're simple harmonic oscillators," Rodney once said while drunk, "then they're damped and driven harmonic oscillators." John knows what he means as he watches them swing Ronon around, slapping him on his back, kissing him, and then some of then reach Teyla. Ryb seizes her and lifts her high into the air; her laugh rings out and John is pleased that Kanaan is here to see her so happy.   


  
"Strm! Strm!" Rodney shouts and lets go of John to hurry to Strm and Dzed, two women who run the community oven and bake most of the bread. They crash into each other, welcoming him, and rush him to one of the tables set up beneath the willowy trees. John smells fresh bread, grilling meat, and hurries after him.  


  
Talb wraps his enormous arms around John and lifts him in welcome, the way Ronon sometimes does, and he laughs, feeling ridiculous and delighted. "Welcome!" Talb roars. "You remembered!"  


  
"How could we forget?" John gasps, trying to catch his breath when Talb sets him down and slings his arm around John's shoulders. "Nezka!" he tries to say, but she's got him firmly around the waist and kissing him.  


  
"Welcome, welcome, Jowan," she says in her husky voice. She bears the signs of her battles unashamedly, as she should, John always thinks when he sees the thick scars around her throat.   


  
He looks around him through dazzling sunlight and complex shadows made by the trailing willow branches. Tiny leaves flutter through the air, smoke coils up, grease spatters, and then Rowse bows to him, as he does each time. "Cousin," he says, and kisses John. "Thank you for bringing back our kinsman."  


  
"Rowse," John says helplessly, always tongue-tied by the Satedans generous gratitude.   


  
"Cousin," Ronon says, and he and Rowse embrace fiercely, and then Ronon grabs John for one of his powerful hugs. The others converge around them and John is patted and stroked and hugged and kissed while his teammates watch, beaming.   


  
Rodney is already eating a sandwich of the Strm and Dzed's bread and the grilled whatever. He has a _talwyn_ flower behind one ear. Teyla says, "John," and beckons him into the shadow of the willow trees. He slips between the slender trailing branches and finds her and Kanaan with Pema, the eldest Satedan. She is seated on a low bench that wraps around the trunk of the tree behind her, smiling up at him and Teyla, her eyes disappearing into her wrinkles. Smile wrinkles, John thinks every time he sees her.   


  
They bow to her, and she takes John's left hand and Teyla's right. "Jowan," she whispers. "Tella." John likes their Satedan names; he is honored that they have been accepted. "And Tella's Kanaan."  


  
Ronon comes swiftly up behind them, wrapping his big hands around John and Teyla. "Pema," he says, ducking his head.   


  
"Nima Ronon," she says fondly. "You return for the holiday Rei."  


  
"Every year," he says. "My ancestors and my children, too."  


  
"Yes, all here," she says contentedly. It's a saying of the day, John knows, but it never fails to give him a start. He wonders when Ronon will have children to bring. "Rejoice, cousins," she says, and then shoos them away.  


  
John bumps shoulders with Ronon. They duck through the branches and back into the sunlight. John is greeted by every Satedan with their usual hearty slaps and hugs and kisses, so fiercely that their welcome is almost threatening to him. But he submits as he does each year.  


  
He finds Rodney eating _kuocho_ , small rolls sweetened with honey and rolled in tiny black seeds that taste like cinnamon. "Mm," Rodney says, gesturing toward the firepit. A huge grill has been hung over it and covered with great slabs of meat. Dzeb hugs him; she smells of smoke from the grill.  


  
"Redne says you will like this," Dzeb says, handing him a sandwich. The bread is fresh, the meat juicy and steaming, and the greens bitter. It's the best thing he's eaten in months. He nods vigorously and she beams at him, then returns to the grill.  


  
"What about me?" Ronon asks, seizing her shoulders and gently shaking her. She pretends to swat him with giant fork she is using to turn the meat and he laughs, dancing out of her way.   


  
"Nima Ronon, welcome home," she says, and he kisses her.  


  
"Food?" he says sadly, and she laughs again.   


  
"Help yourself. Strm is slicing bread."   


  
He builds himself a huge dripping sandwich and joins John watching the others. Rodney is talking rapidly to Ryb, probably about the swords and knives he makes, known throughout the galaxy for their strength and durability. Teyla is still with Pema, but Kanaan has been captured by three young boys and is playing a game like hackysack with them; he is very good at it.  


  
When the sun has begun sinking behind the mountains leaving the three moons behind, and after everyone has eaten more than their fill, John helps Dzeb and Ronon damp the fire while Teyla, Rodney, and Kanaan help the others pack up the gear. The Satedans live far from the stargate, high in the mountains in what Rodney calls a university, and it is like a campus. Big quadrangles have been terraced out and covered in soft grass for the children to play in; the quadrangles are lined by buildings made of rough-hewn stone. John and his teammates helped design and construct the campus, a home for the Satedans to come back to.  


  
The wagons are packed, but the _uksati_ are left to graze. Pema hobbles on two sticks, refusing help, though John doubts she will be able to refuse next year. The Satedans have formed a circle with Pema in the center. Long shadows are cast by the willow trees now. A slight breeze catches the tiny leaves and scatters them in long waves. John is pressed between a family of three on one side and Kanaan and Teyla on the other. Behind him he can feel Ronon, and then Rodney pushes between John and the family, squeezing close, apologizing to the young mother. John elbows him and he elbows John back; then John feels Ronon's hand on his neck and he settles. Rodney burps, pats his chest, and murmurs, "Excuse me." The child next to him giggles.  


  
Ryb rings the finger cymbals, a low tone that warms and reverberates; John can feel it against his skin and in his chest. He rings them again. Even the children are quiet. He raises his hands over his head and rings them a third time.  


  
A gust of wind curls around John, scattered leaves and tiny white flowers. They tumble across the grass to Pema, swirl around her, and fly on. John can barely hear Pema's husky voice but he knows the words by now: he knows the names she recites. Not the names of their dead, for there are too many to ever finish naming. Pema names the living, the ones standing around her in a grateful circle, and John's heart feels larger when he makes out the names _Nima Ronon, Redne, Telle, Kanaan,_ and _Jowan_.  


  
Pema has to stop several times, and one of the children brings her a cup of something to drink, then stands beside her as she continues, proudly holding her cup. The names continue until all present are named; then she names the future.  


  
John has no idea what this means or how this can be, but she names children coming. He wonders which children will be Ronon's; if any will be brother or sister to Torren; he wonders if any are his or Rodney's. The names go on, and he thinks they are all named _hope_.  


  
The sun drops behind the mountains, casting crepuscular rays up into the sky. Rodney lifts his face from Pema to the sky, and takes a deep breath. Pema falls silent. All the children she can see are named. For a moment more they all stand quietly, and then they begin the final preparations for their journey home.  


  
Ronon goes to help them. Teyla and Kanaan walk slowly away, hand in hand, deep in discussion. Only John and Rodney remain where the circle was.   


  
Rodney rubs his eyes, clears his throat, and says, "Always a moving ceremony, even if it is nonsense."  


  
"Yeah," John says. He's still caught in the future naming, wondering about who will come after him.   


  
Rodney sniffs and clears his throat again. "You ever wonder if, uh, if . . ."  


  
"Yeah," John says again. "If one of the names is my child? Or yours? Every year."  


  
"Doesn't seem likely anymore," Rodney says.  


  
John looks at him a little surprised.   


  
"Pema talked to me," he continues. "She wanted to know all my names, and the names of my family."  


  
"Why?"  


  
Rodney looks at him, with reddened eyes. "I named you," he says abruptly. "As family, I mean." He lifts his chin, daring John to object.  


  
"You are," John says just as abruptly. If he doesn't speak quickly, he won't speak at all. "My family." He looks away from Rodney's earnest face, but Rodney touches him, on his wrist, lightly, then wrapping his fingers around it. He's done that before, usually to haul John somewhere, but this feels different. He isn't going anywhere.  


  
"We're family," Rodney says, his voice firm but his face reddening. "So let's be a family."  


  
John tilts his head and opens his mouth to ask something, anything, but Rodney tightens his grip on his wrist. Refusing to think about what he's doing, John turns to face Rodney and then, suddenly, they're hugging, and Rodney's gasping for breath, saying, "Oh my god." His nose brushes John's cheek and he kisses John, first his cheek, then his jaw, and finally his lips.   


  
John kisses back and, after the first shock, he's no longer surprised. He is, he discovers, relieved. He remembers how many times they've come almost to this, but never quite, and he laughs under his breath, breaking the kiss.  


  
"It's not that funny," Rodney says sounding affronted, but he's laughing, too, and they rest their foreheads together, leaning together in the waning light, the noise of the Satedans drifting to them on the breeze.   


  
"Not funny at all," John whispers. He pulls away a bit, angles his head, and kisses Rodney again, the scrape of stubble somehow comforting, Rodney's big shoulders beneath his hands comforting, too, and Rodney's hands on his back encouraging. Night settles on the meadow, the wind picks up, the three moons glow a rich buttery light, and Rodney is a warm haven in a cold universe.  


  
"Jowan! Redne!" Ryb shouts, startling them both. The Satedans are ready to leave, their laden wagons hitched to the _uksati_. Still holding his wrist, Rodney leads the way; John can hear him grumbling beneath his breath. But when they stand beside Pema's wagon, he surprises John by climbing up to kiss Pema.   


  
"Thank you," he says, and jumps lightly down by John.  


  
"It is the holiday of Rei," she says, "the naming of names. Do you have any names to add?"  


  
Rodney stands close to John, their shoulders touching. "Jowan and me," he says. "Next year, say Jowan and Redne. If that's okay," he says, turning to John, and in the brilliant moonlight John can see how wide Rodney's eyes are.  


  
He rubs the back of his neck, feeling every eye on him waiting for an answer. "Yeah," he says firmly. "Jowan and Redne. Thank you, Pema."  


  
"I will remember, and keep your names," she says.   


  
John and his teammates stand back as the _uksati_ are urged to move on. They watch until the last wagon has rolled past the trees, until all John can see are the long branches of the willows stirring in the evening breeze. Then Ronon punches John in the shoulder and Teyla kisses Rodney's cheek. "Ow," John complains, rubbing his shoulder.   


  
"Don't hit me," Rodney warns Ronon as he approaches, but Ronon picks him up, hugging him tightly, then setting him next to John. Kanaan slaps them both on their backs. John looks shyly at Teyla, who draws him down so their heads are together. Before she releases him, she whispers, "I am happy for you, John."  


  
Ronon leads them back to the stargate. "Next year, Torren will be big enough to come," he says to Kanaan.  


  
Rodney, Teyla, and John follow. John says nothing, his heart too full. He listens to his teammates laugh and remembers the feel of Rodney's lips on his. At the DHD, Rodney punches the glyphs for Atlantis and the stargate's wormhole boils out, beautiful and terrifying. When it settles, Ronon charges through, but Teyla and Kanaan move slowly, turning their heads to smile at John and Rodney.  


  
"You okay?" Rodney asks when they've disappeared. John thinks he sounds scared, and he can't have that.  


  
"Hey, I took a punch from Ronon for you." Rodney grins at him. John curses his diffidence and forces himself to remember Rodney's bravery; he won't negate that. "Yeah, m'okay," he says quietly. He puts his hand on Rodney's face and this time, as if they've done this forever, they come together gently.   


  
"Let's go home," Rodney whispers in his ear, and kisses him there, a bit wetly, making John shiver, so he hugs Rodney. They walk to sinuous surface of the wormhole holding hands, John feeling simultaneously ridiculous and pleased. Rodney lets go first, giving John a look of such ardor that John is taken aback.  


  
He follows Rodney through the stargate, wondering what he'll find on the other side.


	22. in the midst of the crowd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story a day for the month of January, 2009 (with three exceptions). Each day's story is posted as a chapter, but they are unrelated to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ronon Dex.

Ronon doesn't miss sex. Not that much. He misses tenderness, and whispering in the dark. He misses cold feet pressed against his calves, and soft laughter. He misses being surprised by small hands slipping around his waist, by kisses to his forehead, by the turn of a head across the marketplace and sudden knowledge that he _knows_ her.   


  
He misses knowing. He misses being known.  


  
While he was running, those endless years of terror and fury and pain, he rarely let himself miss these things. He swore endless vows of revenge, he tormented himself with images of _the last time_ : the last time they slept together all night, the last time they made love, the last time they kissed, the last time he saw her. Those moments he returned to as if they were worry stones with harsh markings that caught and damaged his fingers.   


  
Sometimes, rarely, he had tried to remember the bad times: stupid arguments, the time they broke up, the time . . . But there weren't many bad times, and they inevitably circled round to moments he couldn't let himself recall.  


  
Now, years later, standing on a balcony of a tower in a floating city, he can let himself miss what he'd once had. The first year in Atlantis had been almost as painful for him as when running so he'd found secret places to hide -- easy to do in a city larger than his home city -- where he could let himself remember. Once he'd broken his hand and hadn't realized it till the next day, though he vaguely remembered punching a pillar on the balcony.   


  
Over time, he'd worn those worry stones smooth and even the last times he could recall in a poignant glow of melancholy and gratitude -- gratitude because he'd had those moments. Because he'd loved and been loved, and he'd known it at the time. All these years later, he knew how rare that was.  


  
From far below, on the longest pier that stretched out from the heart of Atlantis, tiny figures move and their voices waft up to him on the ocean breeze climbing the tower. He leans over the balcony, resting on his forearms, his hands dangling. The sun is warm on his shoulders, the breeze cool on his face, as he watches his friends and colleagues and teammates. He catches sight of baby Torren tottering to his father, who sweeps him up in his arms, and after a few seconds, Teyla's delighted laugh reaches him. He smiles.  


  
He squints his eyes against the sunlight bouncing off the ocean surface. He easily identifies Radek, sitting cross-legged in front of what Ronon knew had to be a chessboard; across from him sit two others, with three more leaning over their shoulders. Radek had promised to teach Ronon chess, but he had had a glint in his eyes that made Ronon laugh and decide to ask McKay instead.  


  
Lorne is also easily identifiable, standing in front of an easel, his arms folded across his chest. Ronon wonders what he is painting today; Lorne faces out to sea, away from Atlantis. He raises his eyes and looks in that direction. Hundreds of miles of ocean, tiny ripples lined with white, stretching on till it met the blue of the sky in a blurry horizon, the direction the wind comes, carrying the scent of all that water. He would have to ask Lorne if he could see the painting; Ronon liked big action scenes but this could be interesting.  


  
He looks again at the pier. So many people; Carter had left a skeleton crew in the control room, and people were swapping out regularly so everyone who wants could come out. There's a sudden puff of smoke and a minute later the scent of combustant -- what the Atlantians called barbecue. He can hear tiny clinks of glass and knows it's the glass bottles of lager they have brought from Earth, though Ronon knows for a fact that McKay prefers the Tilut ale and Sheppard has a weakness for the Athosian's ruus wine. He likes Budweiser himself.  


  
"Hey, buddy," he hears behind him, and turns to find Sheppard holding the big glass door open just wide enough for his face. "Comin' down?"  


  
"Yeah. In a minute," Ronon says.  


  
"Okay. I'll, uh --"  


  
"No, come out. It's okay."  


  
Sheppard opens the door wider. Behind him, Ronon sees McKay's face, a bit anxious. "Don't mean to interrupt," Sheppard says. McKay pushes him out.  


  
"You should know by now that if Ronon wanted to be alone, he'd tell you. Not everyone is as inhibited socially as you are."  


  
"I am not inhibited," Sheppard says irritably. "Just because I pay attention to nuances --"  


  
"You so do not," McKay says. Then, "Hey, Ronon. You know they're barbecuing _tior_? Beautiful cuts of meat, too, and I happen to know that Durasaimy seasoned it with that good stuff from Æ."  


  
"Sounds good," he says. He turns to watch the people on the pier. There's Carter, her yellow hair making her an easy target. He sees Woolsey's bald head glinting -- his visit is ostensibly the reason for the party, but no one would tell him that any excuse would have done. He can smell the barbecue's fire now and see its flames; he can hear people laughing, someone singing, and hears a guitar.  


  
McKay sniffs heartily, coming next to Ronon to look down. " _Smells_ good," he says, and his stomach rumbles. Ronon likes that about McKay.  


  
Next to McKay, John rests his arms on the railing, looking over McKay's bent head at Ronon. "Bad day?" he asks softly.  


  
Ronon shakes his head. "Naw. Just --" He gestures toward the pier, toward the ocean, toward the sky. He wishes powerfully that Melena was standing here with them. What would she say? "It's good to be grateful."  


  
McKay looks at him, eyes wide. "Are you feeling all right?"  


  
Ronon elbows him and, when he squeals, begins to tickle his ribs through his grey tee-shirt. "No, dammit, oh my god, you're the little brother I never wa-a-ah-hahaha!" Sheppard catches McKay and holds him, laughing as well, the big laugh Ronon hears too rarely. He bends to McKay's head to whisper into his ear, "Let's get him."  


  
They turn on Sheppard, who backs away abruptly. "No! I'm your CO, I _order_ you, no, oh, goddammit." He twists in their arms, but he's laughing still, and Ronon smiles so hard his face hurts.   


  
"Ronon?" McKay asks softly. He stops tickling Sheppard and turns him so they both face Ronon. From the stricken looks on their faces, Ronon knows something is wrong. He puts his hands on his face and feels wetness. He wipes his cheeks, rubs his nose, sniffs.   


  
Sheppard tentatively touches Ronon, his forearm, and Ronon knows he has to do something to break the moment. He grabs Sheppard around the middle and hoists him up over his shoulder. "Goddammit!" Sheppard shouts.  


  
"Hungry?" he asks McKay. His face wears myriad expressions and Ronon waits as concern, fear, sadness, and acceptance play across it.   


  
Then McKay swings open the door and gestures Ronon through. "Always," he says. He follows them. "Looking good, Sheppard," he teases. "When you get old and decrepit we'll have to assign Ronon to haul your ass around."  


  
"Your sorry ass is more like it," Sheppard grumps, but he's stopped fighting Ronon.  


  
He deposits him next to the doors to the nearest transporter. Sheppard's face is red, his hair crazier than ever. "You are both so in trouble," he says, straightening his tee shirt, running his hands through his hair. "So much trouble."  


  
"Yeah, yeah," McKay says stepping into the transporter. "Get a move on, you two. There's a party that can't happen without us."  


  
Ronon follows them.  


  


* * *

Title from Ralph Waldon Emerson's _Self Reliance_ :   
It is easy in the world to live after the world's opinion; it is easy in solitude to live after our own; but the great man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude.


	23. Engineering Atlantis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story a day for the month of January, 2009 (with three exceptions). Each day's story is posted as a chapter, but they are unrelated to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chuck.

"All right, gear up, Campbell," Major Lorne says. Chuck nearly falls out of his chair.   


  
"Um," he says, half-rising, wondering if he'd misheard. Lorne frowns at him, so he locks his console and turns the controls over to Amelia, who's watching him wide-eyed, and hurries to the locker room.   


  
"Oh, good, you are coming as well?" Radek says to him when he arrives. "You have degree in electrical engineering, yes?"  


  
"Yes," he admits, and shivers in apprehension. But if Radek's going, he can do it, go off-world and rescue the colonel and his team.  


  
Cadman bursts in. "The major asked me to make sure you're equipped properly," she says. It occurs to Chuck that she's in the men's locker-room, but she doesn't seem to care. She helps him select a tac vest, leads them to the armory to be fitted out with the weapons they're checked out on, and then double-checks their gear.   


  
"Captain," Lorne says, and she and Chuck come to attention, or as much as anyone comes to attention in Atlantis. "Sergeant, Doc. Here's the sitch: the Pelorans will allow only four people through their stargate. We'll go through uncloaked. Cadman and I will guard you, and you two will figure out what the hell's going on. Sergeant Stackhouse is bringing through a second jumper, cloaked, with backup, just in case."  


  
"Have you heard from Rodney?" Radek asks, and Chuck can see how anxious he is.  


  
"Not since the data burst you caught. And good job, Doc."  


  
Radek nods, and rubs his eyes. "What if I had missed it? Rodney could not know that I would be able to detect his signal amidst the noise of the transmission. I could easily --"  


  
"Doc," Lorne says, and puts his hand on Radek's shoulder to gently shake him. "You did good. Let it go."  


  
Radek nods, but he looks miserable. Chuck says, "Sir, I haven't been on many away missions, and never a rescue. Are you sure I'm the right person?"  


  
"Oh, Chuck," Radek says, "I have seen your work. Besides, if I go, you can go. Evan knows how much I do not like going off-world."  


  
"Yeah, but you're second in command of the entire science division," Chuck points out. "I'm just a technician." Chucknician, he knows they call him behind his back, but he doesn't need to share that now.  


  
"No, no," Radek starts, but Lorne says, "Ladies! You're going. Suck it up." He looks at Cadman. "No offence."  


  
"None taken," she says cheerily. "Besides, I'm not a lady. I'm a grrrrrrrrl."   


  
Lorne rolls his eyes, and says, "Head out, people." He leads them to the jumper bay. As they settle into their seats, he says, "It's about a forty minute flight once we're through the gate. Both of you keep close eye on what we fly over -- any weapons, masses of people, machinery, whatever. We need to know everything." He looks at each of them, measuring them, Chuck feels, then taps his radio. "Stacks, you ready?"  


  
The jumper beside them fades out. "We'll follow you through," the sergeant says in Chuck's ear. "Then do a perimeter search."  


  
"Keep us posted," Lorne says, and the jumper begins to rise.  


  
Chuck wishes for a seat belt, some kind of restraint; even though he can't feel any motion, he can see how quickly they fly up into the gateroom, where they hover. He leans forward and peers around -- there's Amelia! He manages not to wave to her. He remembers when Dr. Weir was still with them, how she'd always be present when an away team left or returned. Chuck is still proud of himself for finding the courage to break from Earth, and is a little disappointed that communication and even visits are now so routine. He's long past the age when he should want a Really Big Adventure, he scolds himself, and he isn't sure he has the courage or skills to survive one. Except he had, hadn't he.  


  
Deep in his memories of his trip to Pegasus, he's taken by surprise when Lorne shoots through the stargate and then he's lost in the interstellar distances. There isn't any thought during the transition, he's been told, but he isn't sure he believes it -- then he gasps for breath and clutches the back of Lorne's seat.  


  
"You okay there, Campbell?" Cadman asks him, checking her many weapons.  


  
Chuck looks at Radek, whose eyes are as big behind his glasses as Chuck's feel. It's one thing to go through the gate for a brief visit to Earth but another thing entirely to go through armed to the teeth on a rescue mission. Cadman isn't waiting for an answer; she knows better than he does that none of them has any choice but to be okay.  


  
"Doc, bring up the schema of the fort."  


  
"Ah, yes," Radek says, hastily putting down his water bottle and wiping his mouth. Chuck sees that his hands are trembling slightly, but Radek brings up the HUD and begins to explain. "This is from an altitude of approximately nine hundred kilometers; I suggest you and Sergeant Stackhouse take the jumpers up to an LEO so we can let the planet's rotation get us to the fort more quickly." He clicks some keys on his notebook and the HUD's image zooms dizzyingly. "Here from one-eighty kilometers, so you can see more detail."  


  
"Shit," Cadman says. "Excellent location. High ground, and the lowlands are nearly treeless. Get in closer?"  


  
The image zooms again, and now Chuck can see the fort doesn't look much like a fort in a Western movie, or even a medieval castle. It's something entirely else. He can't help himself; he half stands to see it better.   


  
"As you see, this was probably built by the Ancients at a very early date. From what I can tell, the technology -- while far advanced to us -- is quite primitive compared to Atlantis." He clicks again, and now they're face-to-face with the structure. Tall walls that look like rows of enormous columns but built side by side into one sinuous wall. Every seventh column is a window, though Chuck feels confident it isn't like any window on Earth. They run from floor to the top of the roof, and must be -- he checks the key -- five hundred meters.  


  
The sinuous shape of the walls is mirrored in the sinuous shape of the structure itself: not a cube or rectangle, it follows the crest of the hill it's perched on, like a snake, Chuck thinks. A snake that's keeping their people hostage.   


  
Lorne flicks the display off. "We're getting close," he said, "so let's run through this. Stacks, Hendricks, Tillis, Njonjo, you listening?"  


  
"Yessir," Stackhouse replies.   


  
"All right. You remain in the air, cloaked, while we go in and make nice with the indigs. Radek, Campbell: you'll pretend to work on the equipment for these guys, but don't worry about actually doing anything, just stall 'em. Figure out where our guys are and how to get them out. When you talk to me, use the radio, but pretend to talk to each other. Keep your radios open at all times. "  


  
"Evan, I can probably find where they are even from here, because of their subcutaneous transmitters."  


  
"We tried earlier, but the walls of that fort block --"  


  
"Yes, yes, but you didn't have me. I will, just, wait . . ."  


  
Chuck watches as Radek's fingers poke at the keyboard while he mutters to himself. " _Ne, ne, hovno_ ," Chuck hears; he knows what that means. "Yes, here --" The HUD re-appears, but this time there are four small, and widely dispersed, red dots. "There they are. Oh, dear."  


  
"Crap," Lorne says. "That's a problem. Jumper Two, you seein' that?"  


  
"Yessir," Njonjo's voice says. "Can you identify who's who?"  


  
"Ah, yes, the frequencies are different. Here's is Teyla, here is the colonel, over here, this is Rodney. Way over here, this is Ronon."  


  
"So spread out. Who first?" Lorne asks.  


  
No one replies. They all stare at the image hovering before them. By separating the team like that, the Pelorans have significantly increased the odds that releasing one would give the Pelorans time to regroup and attack.  


  
"All at once," Radek finally says. "When we are working on this weapon of the Pelorans, we will release them all at once."  


  
Lorne looks satisfied and nods, but Chuck say nothing. He hopes Radek is right.  


  
"Stackhouse?" Lorne says.  


  
"Cloaked and ready, sir."  


  
"Cadman?"  


  
"On your mark."  


  
He glances over his shoulder at Radek and Chuck, then takes them down. Chuck sees a flat area just outside the structure that Lorne is using as a landing zone. The Peloran military are standing there, a squad carrying ugly weapons like bulky Colt C7s. He pats the Beretta strapped to his thigh, takes a deep breath, and braces for landing -- unnecessarily. Lorne sets the jumper down so gently that Chuck doesn't realize they're down until the hatch pops open.  


  
Lorne exits first, then Cadman, who stands by the hatch, her hand up, keeping Radek and Chuck inside. To Chuck's surprise, her hair is down and her vest opened in a way that shows off her breasts. She sees him looking her over and grins. "Remember, I'm just a grrrrrrl," she whispers. Beyond her, Chuck hears Lorne talking to someone, sounding plausibly friendly, and then Cadman gestures. He follows Radek out into the icy air, squinting into the brilliant sunshine.  


  
"About time," someone says. "Follow me."   


  
Chuck's mouth is so dry he can barely swallow. He follows Radek, Cadman behind him, as they're led along a muddy path for perhaps quarter of a mile. The sun is too bright and he wishes he'd worn sunglasses, and the mud squishes unpleasantly beneath his boots, getting caught in the tread, and he really wishes he were back at his station in Atlantis joking with Amelia.  


  
They come to a stop so abrupt that Chuck nearly runs into Radek. He leaves his hands on Radek's shoulders; it's comforting, and to them both, he thinks. The difference between the glaring sunlight he's trying to look through and the dark in which the squad leader and Lorne stand in is too great; he can't see what's going on. There's a puff of warmer air that smells of boiled mutton and sour milk and dirty bodies, and they're led inside.  


  
The snake-like building hides an indoor city, very third world-ish, and Chuck has the immediate impression of poverty, cruelty, and desperation. He stays away from the walls and doors as much as possible; even though his gene isn't very powerful, he's afraid to let these people know he can offer them anything. Because here, inside the snake, it's obvious that some version of the Ancients created the building. He can't explain it; maybe it's knowledge at a genetic level. But he can feel a pull, the way he could when he first walked through the gate into Atlantis. He wonders what it was like for Colonel Sheppard, and if these people know.  


  
"What?" Radek whispers to him, but he just shakes his head. Major Lorne must know, and it's probably not safe to talk about.  


  
They make their way through the crowds: kids racing around, dog-like creatures shitting and pissing, donkeys hauling little carts full of straw and vegetables and pots and pans. The ceilings are vaulted, with egg-shaped skylights that let beams of the startlingly bright light down like pillars, and the walls are lined with little shops: mounds of spices and herbs, streamers of dried vegetables; sacks of beans and grain; stacks of colorful bowls, rolls of woven rugs, strands of beaded jewelry, and hundreds of people crammed together, shouting irritably in the heat. Chuck wonders who everyone is -- where do they grow the grain and vegetables? Indoors, or is it brought from other parts of this world, or even from other worlds?   


  
A shove draws his attention away from the packed stalls and back to his task. He grimaces at the guy who'd pushed him and jerks away, moving closer to Radek. They're coming to the end of the bazaar; the stalls are spaced farther apart and the noise is diminishing. It's darker, too, with fewer -- and dirtier -- skylights. Some are bricked over.   


  
And it's hotter. He's already sweating from nerves under all the equipment and the pack he's wearing but now the sweat is rolling down his back and under his arms. Where the hell are they going?  


  
After a long walk through an increasingly dark corridor, they start hiking downhill. The walkway is rough brick, slick with mud and slimy with grease; he has to walk carefully. He puts his hands back on Radek's shoulders.   


  
Finally, finally, they're let into an enormous room, the size of a warehouse, crammed with dented machinery, patina green with age, making grinding, rumbling noises. "What is this place?" Chuck thinks he hears Lorne shout. There's more shouting, none of which he can hear over all the noise of the machinery. He's going to get a headache pretty quick. Radek turns to him and he bends his head to hear. "We must work quickly, find a way to release Rodney and the others."  


  
He followed Radek who pushes through their guards to where Lorne is in heated discussion with someone nearly twice his size. The big guy looks annoyed at the interruption but quickly realizes that Radek and Chuck are the repairmen and leads them to a console along one wall. "The air!" he shouts at them. "To filter out the toxins."  


  
Radek looks at Chuck, his eyes wide behind his smudged glasses. Toxins, Chuck thinks. Great. Really fucking great.   


  
Radek pulls out his laptop and boots it up while Chuck investigates the console. It's pretty basic. It looks as though it had been designed for something else and then badly converted into an elaborate on-off switch, presumably for the filters. He can't tell, and he supposes it doesn't matter; they're aren't really here to fix anything, but he might as well see if this thing can help them extract the colonel and his team.  


  
He finds a dusty monitor, wipes it off, and crawls under the console to check the wiring. He likes this kind of work and sinks into, a sort of meditation. Although his manifestation of the ATA gene is minimal, he thinks he can feel something from the console, or maybe the wiring, a sort of mutual interest.  


  
Radek crouches next to him. "What do you find?"  


  
"I think we can monitor some parts of this place," Chuck says with more confidence than he can feel.  


  
"Open doors?"  


  
"Not sure."  


  
"I will make it happen," Radek says, and disappears again, presumably back to his laptop. There's a little sizzle, more felt than heard, and Chuck scrambles out to find the monitor functioning. Punching buttons, he realizes it's a very simple surveillance system, and he's working his way through the building. There are hundreds of cameras he can click to, though many no longer work.  


  
"We would call this IP based," Radek whispers to him. "Very good for our purposes because already part of the computer network. Ha. We show them."  


  
Chuck's next click reveals Dr. McKay pacing in a cell. The monitor is black and white with very poor resolution, but even so, Chuck can tell he's been knocked around. He has a bit of a limp, he's cradling one arm, and his face is puffy. "Oh, Rodney," Radek moans.  


  
There's a scuffle behind them and they turn to watch Cadman shoving one of their guards away. Her hair is in her face and her eyes bright with anger.   


  
"They're giving us cover," Chuck whispers to Radek just as Cadman's voice says in his ear, "So do something!"  


  
"I am working fast as I can. Okay, okay, I can do several things. Maybe all. Big diversion, yes? Open all doors everywhere so they can escape but also make all warning sirens blow, and these horrible noisy machines I think I will ruin."  


  
Chuck almost laughs, but Radek has his laptop connected to the console and suddenly the images on the monitor flash by faster than Chuck could ever manually change them. The noise around them grows, and there's a frightening creaking sound. "Don't blow us up!" Chuck pleads.  


  
"Ha!" Radek says, and Chuck thinks he's a little afraid of Radek like this.  


  
"All right, Chuck, you see that panel next to the biggest turbine? With two black boxes? Yes? Go over there and touch it."  


  
"Oh, shit, Radek, my gene isn't that strong, and what's it going to do, anyway?"  


  
From over his glasses, Radek looks at Chuck. Chuck swallows hard, glances at Lorne who's staring meaningfully at him, and winds his way through the mass of guards and whoever else is down here with them. "Radek," Chuck murmurs to himself. There's more shouting behind him and he begins to jog toward the panel -- he can't run full out because the place is a junk heap of _stuff_ , a store room of broken crap. Over his radio, he hears Stackhouse shouting but it's too noisy and chaotic for him to make out what. He hears Cadman's voice, and the grinding noise gets louder. He glances behind him and sees two really enormous guys moving steadily in his direction, both gripping weapons. Radek is shouting now, too, and then Chuck flings himself over a broken something and slaps the panel, thinking _please please please_.  


  
Something pops and steam begins to billow up, hitting the high ceiling, and then filling the room. It stinks. Another large drum of something pops, and the grinding reaches a new, more painful pitch, more a screech, and then klaxons begin to wail.  


  
What now, Chuck wonders, as the first guard reaches him and with a satisfied smile stretches his hand towards Chuck's throat. Never releasing the panel, Chuck turns so his back is against the wall behind him, but it's a door that slides open and he falls on his ass. The last thing he sees is the guard falling on top of him, a neat red spot blossoming in his chest.  


  
He rolls away, but the guy falls over his legs, so he kicks as hard as he can until he can crawl away. Lorne and Cadman are shooting, so he stays low, pulling out his Beretta. He notices that his hand is shaking, and he really wishes he had the earplugs he uses on the firing range.   


  
Above all the chaos, he hears Radek's voice booming -- he's figured out some kind of public address system, and he's shouting, "Rodney! Colonel! Everyone get out, I am blowing up this, it is going to blow up!" Chuck has no idea if Radek's telling the truth or not, but no one else does either and suddenly there's a terrifying rush of people toward the exit, back toward the bazaar, and yet another vat of something begins to steam. He scrambles over the dead guard as best he can, and vaults over the busted equipment, reaching Radek in time to hear him shout, "Out! Out! Everyone!"  


  
Radek grins at him maniacally, then Lorne grabs Radek by the vest and jerks him away from the console. "Come on, Doc," he sees him mouth. Cadman is waiting by the door, P90 up and out, looking like an avenging angel. He follows Radek and the major and sees Cadman fall in just behind him, feels her hand on his back. "You did good," she shouts at him over the cacophony, "now hustle!"  


  
He hustles. The crowds are insane, merging in the central spine of the snake-building, and he briefly wonders if anyone has been trampled, but it takes all his attention to work his way through the crush, around the toppled drums of spices and trampled bags of grain. He sees Ronon Dex emerge from a side vault, battered and furious, pulling on Cadman and Chuck as if they were recalcitrant children.  


  
He's lost his radio in the shuffle but he thinks he hears Ronon shout, "Teyla!" He can't look away from his feet, however; it's just too dangerous to risk falling even with Dex dragging him. Then Teyla grabs his hand. Her face is red and one eye puffy, but she smiles at him serenely and Chuck remembers that he's a little in love with her.  


  
Ahead there's a burst of gunfire, a P90, and he sees Stackhouse and Njonjo firing over everyone's heads. They all speed up, pushing the people ahead of them aside; he briefly feels sorry for them, caught between the hard place of an exploding building and the rock of the Atlantians' weapons, until he remembers why they had to come here and do this.  


  
Brilliant light flares in his eyes and he barely has time to register that it's another entrance, not the one they came in by, when he's being tugged toward it, and finally begins to run. Running feels wonderful, to stretch his legs heading toward the astounding light of this place, on top of a new world -- he runs and runs until he's passed most of the people and is at last under the great sky and not the ophidian ceiling behind him.  


  
He sees one jumper, and then a second wavers into view, uncloaking like some Romulan ship. He turns and nearly crashes into Ronon, who's still towing Radek and who shouts, "Go! Go!" so he goes, they can count heads later. Gasping, he staggers up the ramp into the nearest jumper, closely followed by Ronon and Radek. More gunfire, so he starts back out, but Cadman hustles in and pushes him into a seat. "Rodney!" she bellows, and Doctor McKay totters up the ramp helped by Cadman.  


  
"Where's Sheppard?" McKay asks, his voice raspy and barely audible over all the noise. "Where's John?"  


  
The ramp starts to close and the jumper hovers abover the crowd. People wail and shriek and thrash about. "When's it gonna explode, Doctor Zelenka?" Chuck shouts at him.  


  
Radek rubs his mouth, then says, "Never. Or at least not right away. I just make a lot of noise and doors open and a few things explode. Everything else the people do to themselves."  


  
"Holy crap," Hendricks says from the front of the cabin where he and Tillis are co-piloting. "You mean this was a big fake-out?"  


  
"The biggest," Radek says cheerfully. His face is filthy and one of his boots is untied, his eyes are red and a little swollen.   


  
"Did we get everybody out?" McKay asks, hoarse.  


  
"Yessir," Tillis says. "We've heard from Major Lorne; he and Stackhouse are in the other jumper with the colonel, Teyla, and Staff Sergeant Njonjo."  


  
"Is the colonel okay?" Chuck asks.   


  
Tillis shrugs. "Will be," he says and turns away. Chuck can see the other jumper through the windshield; the two rise in unison higher and higher, until the scalding blue sky turns indigo and then black. He drops his head back, bumping against the wall of the jumper, and shuts his eyes. His heart is still racing, his Beretta still clutched in his hand, he's sweaty and covered in dust and something spicy.   


  
He opens his eyes again when he hears McKay's husky voice. He lost his radio in the mahem, but he sees that McKay is talking into one. "So not too bad translates to what, broken limbs? Bashed in skull? Oh, I'm fine. Right as rain, if you don't count the sprained ankle, the twisted arm, and whatever it was I inhaled. Oh, bite me."  


  
Chuck grins to himself, and then catches Cadman's eye; she was grinning, too. McKay is talking to the colonel, who must be all right.   


  
"I have no idea why they were so stupid. If they'd simply asked, we probably would have helped them. No, Radek didn't. It was not a bad plan, especially since he came up with it on the fly."  


  
"See if I help you escape again," Radek tells him.  


  
"Teyla says thank you," McKay says to him. "Sheppard says he owe you a beer."  


  
"Yes, beer is nice," Radek agrees; he looks ridiculously happy despite his crazy hair, filthy and torn clothes, and glasses that angle across his nose.  


  
"I imagine I will see you soon," McKay says, and hands the radio back to Tillis. "I'm surprised and impressed, Radek. Thank you."  


  
"I'm surprised, too, Rodney," Radek says. "Please do not ever ask me to do that again."  


  
"I'll try." McKay closes his eyes. "Believe me, I'll try."  


  
When they finally emerge from the jumpers back in Atlantis, Chuck wants nothing more than a very long, very hot shower, a glass of ice water, and his bed, not the briefing he has to attend with Dr. Zelenka and Major Lorne. He can barely keep his eyes open.   


  
"Excellent job," Colonel Carter says. "Radek, just stunning work that you figured out how to get them out without injuring anyone. Or many," she appends. "And Chuck, Major Lorne tells me you did very well supporting Doctor Zelenka in his efforts, and showed real initiative and considerably bravery in the face of danger."  


  
"Thank you, ma'am," he says, and can feel himself flushing with pleasure. "The major is too kind."  


  
"No, no," Radek says, "You did very well. You are a good engineer. Perhaps you will consider working for me?"  


  
Chuck's mouth drops open; he can't believe he's being asked. "I'm military," he says at last. "It depends on my commanding officers."  


  
Radek makes a gesture that Chuck interprets as _forget about them._ "What would you like?" Radek asks.  


  
Chuck looks at Major Lorne and Colonel Carter; they look interested, and a little entertained. "Um, I'd like that. Very much."  


  
Radek slaps the table. "Excellent. You need some refresher courses, I think, so you should work with me for a while, before taking on your own projects. We will discuss this later, after we are clean and rested, yes?"  


  
Chuck isn't sure who Radek is asking; fortunately, Colonel Carter says, "Yes, good idea."   


  
He follows Radek out of Colonel Carter's office, intending to go straight to the transporter that will take him nearest his quarters, but Amelia and the other techs are looking at him with concern, so he heads toward them. "Wow, Chuck," Rui says, "you okay? Dude, you look kinda beat up."  


  
"No, just dirty," Chuck says. "How'd it go while I was gone?"  


  
"Quiet," Amelia says. "Until Rui came on duty."  


  
"Ha," Rui says, but he's still looking worriedly at Chuck.   


  
"I'm fine," Chuck assures them. "But I really need a shower."  


  
"Come back afterwards," Amelia says. "You know, if you feel up to it. Tell us what happened."  


  
"Okay," he says. He can keep his eyes open a bit longer. He likes their concern and interest. And how much longer will he work with them, if he's really going to go back to being an electrical engineer, so he wants to spend time with them now.  


  
He's finally at the transporter when Lorne calls to him. "I won't keep you," he says. "The colonel would like to see you when you have a moment. I think he wants to thank you."  


  
"Jeez, Major, I didn't do anything. Just helped Radek."  


  
"You helped Radek when a lot of dangerous people were pointing weapons at you, when things were exploding and imploding, when you had no idea what was going to happen next. That's something."  


  
"Yes, sir."  


  
He resists ignoring what the major said and punches in the infirmary as his destination. It's quiet there, not what he expected at all. Everyone really must be okay. But he sees someone's feet beneath a privacy curtain and hesitates; if it's where the colonel is, should he go or not? He doesn't know what to do. He creeps forward as quietly as he can, trying to see around the curtain. From the shoes, he knows it's McKay standing there, so he assumes the colonel's in a bed. Then he can hear McKay talking, his voice still low and hoarse.  


  
"I was more angry than frightened," Chuck hears him say. "Mostly worried about you." The colonel says something, but Chuck can't understand the words. "I did, actually. One of them has a black eye, and the other's testicles have probably receded. But that was only after the doors opened and I took them by surprise."  


  
Chuck steals away. He doesn't want to hear anything he shouldn't. He's walking back to the transporter. This time he escapes to his quarters.


	24. Like a Child's Kite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story a day for the month of January, 2009 (with three exceptions). Each day's story is posted as a chapter, but they are unrelated to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John Sheppard.

Inside a spacesuit, space is not silent. John's breathing apparatus clicks and whooshes. He can hear occasional trickling of some liquid, distant gurgles, the beat of his heart much faster than usual.  


  
No radio because the gate was shut to him. Right now, he wanted no distractions; he found using the equipment difficult enough with the cumbersome gloves of the suit and the knowledge that the entire universe was at his back. He needed to concentrate, not quibble. He'd already had to slap a patch over a fray in the crease of his glove between his thumb and forefinger due to a slip in his attention.  


  
The starboard sublight pod wouldn't extend. Normally, a glancing thought brought it out -- as it had the port pod. But this one hadn't moved at all. John had tried using the manual controls, and even flying without it extended. In space, control was adequate, but he didn't want to try it in atmosphere unless forced to.  


  
After mulling over his options, he got into one of the suits that Radek's lab had created by combining a US Extravehicular Mobility Unit with an Ancient spacesuit. The material of the body was lighter and more flexible, and Radek swore it was sturdier as well. The locking rings were stronger, too, he'd said. Whatever, it was a bitch to don without assistance.  


  
Now he was floating, tied to the rear hatch, struggling with an enormous torque wrench-like tool, but there really _was_ an opposite and equal reaction to every action he took, and he was spending most of his energy trying to violate Newton's third law.  


  
He pushed away from the pod, frustrated. Without thinking he tried to run his hands through his hair, but only bashed his hands into his helmet. He was sweaty, too, and felt chilled as it was evaporated by the ventilation system.  


  
His breath was loud in his ears and he wondered about his heart rate. He timed it: nearly 150 BPM. He let himself drift away from the jumper and slowly turn.  


  
Being weightless in space wasn't much like floating in water, John had learned. There wasn't the resistance of water. He was utterly free except for the tether to the hatch. Floating, his heart rated returned to something closer to normal, his breathing eased, and he became aware again of how completely isolated he was.  


  
As he rotated, stars came into view: as sharp as knives. No glittering or twinkling here, which made the stars seem less real to him -- more alien. He was not on Earth, not in Atlantis, or in any atmosphere. He was tethered to an alien ship in the heart of an alien galaxy.  


  
He thought about Atlantis. He wanted to be home, to have a story to tell McKay while they sat on the pier, cold beers in hand, watching the more familiar stars dimmed by the multiple moons.  


  
He wanted to be home.  


  
He thought about Rodney. How furious he'd be at John if anything happened. He could almost hear Rodney railing at the universe. He would insist on a complete investigation into the failure of the pod to retract, and then would carry it out himself. He'd work too late and too hard. He would blame himself.  


  
The black of space was truly black. Blacker than any color John had ever seen. Around some of the nearer stars he could see -- or perhaps imagine -- a deep indigo, and some stars carried slight colors: red, yellow, blue, impossibly faint. Were those colors real? Maybe he was already dead. Maybe Rodney was already looking for him.  


  
John rotated around until he faced this recalcitrant pod again. He tried to give it a swift kick, but drawing his leg back rolled him slowly over, and he laughed: he was heels over head.  


  
He towed himself closer and orientated himself to the jumper. Peering closely at where the pod met the jumper body, he decided to return to an earlier attempt. He pulled out a packet of lubricant. Wrestling with it, he managed to smear it on what little he could see of the dark connecting rod between the pod and the jumper.  


  
He imagined telling Rodney that he'd lubed up the jumper.  


  
Bracing his feet on the jumper, he tried again to jiggle the pod free, heaving with all his might. Mostly he jiggled himself, but he thought some small transfer of energy had occurred. He hoped so.  


  
He took nearly an hour more to return to the interior of the jumper, struggle out of his EVU and into a dry tee-shirt. Trembling from cold and exhaustion, he took time to fix himself a cup of instant coffee taken from an MRE. His hands felt as clumsy as if they were still in the gloves.  


  
At last, he settled again in the pilot's seat. He pictured Rodney's face, irritated and worried. Again he wished he were home, sitting next to Rodney in the fresh air of Atlantis, under the stars of Atlantis. Not for the first time, he felt how profoundly Rodney had become part of his home. Had become John's home.   


  
He shifted from Rodney's face to the retracted pod. Closing his eyes, he pictured it extending, locking into position. The jumper struggled to obey him. He whispered encouragement to it: _Come on, baby, come on_. He could feel the vibration through the body of the jumper. He put his head in his hands and tried to see an extended sublight pod, a balanced jumper, zipping through the stargate.   


  
Rodney was going to kick his ass.  


  
He straightened abruptly and slapped the DHD, hitting the glyphs for Atlantis. Fuck it. Atlantis would just have to send help, like a galactic Triple A. Maybe he wouldn't mention that he'd tried -- no, the techs would know. No hiding that he'd tried to fix it himself, and oh, would Rodney love that.  


  
Actually, Rodney would hate it. He really would be furious. Well, John would just have to suck it up, let himself in for teasing from Lorne and lectures from McKay. He watched through the windshield as the space gate floating before him fired, and the event horizon exploded out, blue and glimmering, the strange light of a non-light.   


  
Then, with a sense he had never experienced until the chair in Antarctica, he knew the pod was extending; the entire jumper trembled, and he felt . . . something intangible, the ghost of a breath across the back of his neck. He knew, with that strange new sense, that all was well. The jumper's HUD popped up and began flipping through opaque numerical and graphical read-outs. Without examining any of them too closely, John knew the jumper was in good repair again. Whatever he'd done, whether on his EVA or working with the mental component of the jumper, had worked: he could go home on his own power.  


  
He grinned. He'd have that beer with Rodney after all.  


  
The event horizon stabilized. "Atlantis?" he said into his mic. "Sheppard. Coming in."  


  
"Is that John?" Rodney's voice boomed in his ear.   


  
"Hello, Rodney," he drawled. "Got any cold beer?"  


  
"Hmph."  


  
John smiled to himself, and nudged the jumper home.  


  


* * *

  


  
Title from Joshua Weiner's "Found Letter":   


  
What makes for a happier life, Josh, comes to this:  
Gifts freely given, that you never earned;  
Open affection with your wife and kids;  
Clear pipes in winter, in summer screens that fit;  
Few days in court, with little consequence;  
A quiet mind, a strong body, short hours  
In the office; close friends who speak the truth;  
Good food, cooked simply; a memory that's rich  
Enough to build the future with; a bed  
In which to love, read, dream, and re-imagine love;  
A warm, dry field for laying down in sleep,  
And sleep to trim the long night coming;  
Knowledge of who you are, the wish to be  
None other; freedom to forget the time;  
To know the soul exceeds where it's confined  
Yet does not seek the terms of its release,  
Like a child's kite catching at the wind  
That flies because the hand holds tight the line.


	25. Honeycomb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story a day for the month of January, 2009 (with three exceptions). Each day's story is posted as a chapter, but they are unrelated to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John Sheppard.

"John," said Poa, "would you care to walk with me?"

"Yeah, sure," John said, scrambling up from where they'd sat on the floor around a long low table. "Feels good to stretch my legs."

"You have very long legs," Poa observed; he came up to about John's shoulder. "Good to stretch them." He wound his way through the crowd, many still eating and drinking, all talking and laughing. John caught Ronon's eye, and made a face at Rodney when he looked about to get up and follow. He tapped his radio in a silent promise to stay in touch, and then followed Poa through the hall and out into the air.

"We are glad to have an occasion to celebrate," Poa said as they followed a carefully maintained trail. "We work very hard here in Sederi and few come simply to visit."

"Yeah, it's great what you're doing, offering a retreat for so many different people." He raised his eyebrows, looking around. "The Wraith don't come here?"

"Not for many years. Perhaps they have forgotten us. We are far from any other star system, and our skies are quite dark at night."

That's pretty much what Rodney had said when they'd found the address in the database. He'd been intrigued because it was a one-planet solar system so far from any other stars and close to the outer ring of the galaxy. "I'm almost tempted to think it's man-made," Rodney had said.

"Ancient-made," John had corrected.

"There have been other peoples in this galaxy," Radek reminded them. All three had stared at the monitor, at the representation of the system, so far from anywhere else.

"Well, let's check it out," John had finally said, and here they were.

Poa was a peaceful companion to walk with; like Teyla, John thought. He didn't speak much, nor walk very quickly. They paused to regard a cluster of flowering plants. "A memorial," Poa explained. "One of our members passed a few weeks ago. When people go, whether they leave or die, we plant something in remembrance. This man was a good man, who lived a very long life. I miss him."

"Sorry," John said softly. They walked on, following the turns of the gravel path. "What's this stone?" he asked, looking at their feet.

"We call it honeycomb, for its yellow color. Also," Poa stopped and knelt, picking up a few pieces to show John, "its structure." John nodded; it was honeycombed with little pockets, and it crunched satisfyingly underfoot when they resumed their walk.

"Were you born here?" John asked at last.

"Oh, no. Very few are born here. Sederi is a refuge and a retreat, a place of study and, hmm. A place of worship."

John didn't know how to respond to that, so he said, "How did you get here?"

Poa cleared his throat, but remained silent. John wondered if it had been rude to ask; every culture was so different. At last, Poa said, "My village was culled. I woke up on a Wraith ship."

John looked at him, but Poa looked the same: calm, focused, very present, not distressed or upset. After a moment, he said, "How did you get off it?"

Poa grinned suddenly. "Luck!" he said. "Or a miracle. I don't know." He took a deep breath and looked up. "See how the breeze moves the tops of the trees? Yet the air is quite still down here. I love the noise the leaves make; it sounds like running water, don't you think?"

"Yeah, it does."

"Well, you're wondering what luck or miracle can take place on a Wraith ship, to someone in the hold of the ship, wrapped in a sticky cocoon, waiting to be sucked dry." John remained silent, walking beside Poa, listening to the wind that sounded like running water.

"For some days, I remained in the cocoon, not really conscious, but still aware of where I was. I don't know that I wanted to die, but I wasn't very interested in living. Eventually, I woke up a bit more and started looking around as much as I could.

"You have been in the hold of a Wraith ship, I believe."

John nodded.

"Not a pleasant place. The smell alone --" Poa wrinkled his nose, "kept me awake almost as much as the fear. Then I became aware of the others with me. Some had already died, some long ago, but many were still alive. Most seemed to be in the same state I had been in, a sort of fugue."

Poa took John's hand and held it as they walked. John felt intensely uncomfortable but held on, hoping he offered Poa comfort. "You don't have to, uh," he began.

"I know," Poa said. "I want you to know. After all, it has a happy ending, yes? So there I was, waking up, really waking, in that horrible place. Hot, humid, sticky. I'd fouled myself, of course, as had the others, and the smell -- well, I'm sure you can imagine.

"There was one other person awake, a woman about my age. She looked terrible, as I did, but her eyes were bright and when she realized I was there, we talked. She was _furious_. Oh, what a temper she had! She struggled and fought the sticky ropes that bound us, and managed to get one hand free. And that was all it took. She had a knife hidden on her and began sawing through the cocooning. She managed to wriggle out, covered in slime, and then cut me out. She was very tall, taller than you are, and very strong. We tried to get others out, but they wouldn't help. Couldn't, I suppose." He sighed deeply and rubbed the back of his neck. His hand gripped John's more tightly.

"Finally, she said we had to go. 'Go?' I said. 'Where in these skies do you think we can go?' She laughed at me and said, 'Out of here, of course!' And so we ran. We hid from the drones, but it was easy -- clearly they didn't anticipate or prepare for any kind of escape. And really, where could we escape to? We were in space!" He shook his head. "She kept me going until we reached the control center, full of horrible creatures. I don't know why we weren't discovered except, as I said, they wouldn't anticipate us being there. I certainly didn't."

"You were in the control center -- you mean, where the pilot sits?"

"Yes, exactly. Very frightening. We hid in a ventilation shaft and could see only their boots clomping across the floor. The shaft was soft, like tissue. She told me that they grew their ships, and I believed her. Sometimes I thought I could feel the ship breathing around me, there in the shaft. I was so hungry and thirsty, too. At one point, I put my head in my arms and wept, for myself, for my village, for my friends and family. She let me cry for a bit and then put her arms around me. I was embarrassed to be crying in front of her, but I felt we had come to the very end, and that we would die there, in the guts of that ship."

"But you didn't."

"As you see. She waited until the room was nearly empty, then slid out of the shaft. Before the creatures could do anything, she ran to the pilot and slit his throat. Then she jabbed her knife into the console -- I thought I heard the ship scream, and sparks flew, a fire broke out, more sparks. I huddled deep in the shaft. I remember thinking that this at least was a better death than by the hand of a Wraith."

Poa swung their hands and took a deep breath; John found himself doing the same. The air did smell good here, sweet and clean. They came to a little fountain, nothing elaborate, just a round bowl with water bubbling up high enough to splash down. Surrounding the bowl were low wooden blocks; Poa led John to them and they sat.

"Well?" John finally said, and Poa flashed him that grin again, the one that took John unawares each time.

"We crashed into a planet. A planet! It turned out she'd known where we were and had planned the entire escape, as much as possible. The crash was terrible, but I scrambled deep into the shaft and it protected me. Later, I learned that she had been stunned by one of the Wraith; she thought being unconscious helped her survive the crash. When everything stopped bouncing and falling, I crawled back out and found her waking up. Most of the Wraith had been killed but some were also waking up, so we ran away. Part of the ship had been ripped away. I cut my arm climbing out, see?" He pulled back the sleeve of his robe and showed John a jagged scar, now faded white.

"We were starving and desperately thirsty, but we ran and ran. No one came after us, of course; we weren't important and probably no one was left alive who knew what she'd done. We found a stream, followed it, and in a week or two found a settlement. They helped us, though they were very suspicious of our story. We went to the stargate, but neither of us had a home to go to; the Wraith had wiped out my village, and so much her world had been badly damaged, including her home city."

"That's an amazing story, Poa," John said. "To have survived a culling, and then a crash?"

"Yes," he said contentedly. "It is a story I do not often tell, but you should know."

"But how did you get here? To Sederi?"

"Ah, yes. When she learned that her city had been destroyed, it was my turn to take care of her. She came from a large family and was devastated by the loss. I made sure she ate and cared for herself, and found myself a job making bricks in a large settlement -- I felt safer there, with more people, and no one bothered us. Then I heard about Sederi and brought her here.

"The good monks took care of her for me while I worked in the fields. I helped plant these trees!" They looked up again and John listened, hearing only the fountain burbling, the leaves rustling, an occasional bird calling, and his own breath and heartbeat. It would be, he thought, a good place to heal.

"Then one day, she met me as I came in from the fields." He grinned at John again.

"And?"

"And, John, I married her! For a little while, at least, for she needed to travel; she had the gate in her blood, you know? But she gave me a daughter who is now favored to be the next abbess of this retreat, and stayed long enough to see her well grown. Then she left us." Poa shook his head, but his smile never faltered. "I loved her very much, and I believe that she loved me, but she had sworn a great oath to kill Wraith and when she was well enough and strong enough and her daughter was grown enough, she returned to it."

"Do you ever hear from her?"

"No, not at all. She told me not to expect her, that she would probably die in the killing, and I suppose she will. Also, you must remember that she trained our daughter and me to expect the day that she left. She was . . ." He trailed off, pensive. "She was utterly herself."

John didn't know what to say, so he said that. "I was married once, too," he added, surprising himself. He never talked about Nancy. "She left me, too."

"Women," Poa said knowingly. "I am in awe of their strength."

"Yeah," John said, thinking about Nancy, and Teyla, and Jeannie Miller.

"So I stay here, working in the gardens now that I am too old to help in the fields. My daughter is a great scholar and, though young, very wise, as you have seen." They sat in comfortable silence for a while. Poa touched John's arm lightly and pointed with one finger at a small ground squirrel creature darting from a fallen log, rooting in the earth, then scurrying back to the log. Everywhere there were flowers and mosses and artfully arranged stones. This would not be a bad place to retire, he thought.

"Well, my friend John, we should go back. There is a delicious drink we serve in the afternoon, very refreshing, and I would like a cup of it." John helped Poa to his feet. "Let us continue on this path; we are almost returned."

The meandering path dove into shrubbery taller than John, with dark glossy leaves and white flowers the size of his fist. Like a maze, he thought. Impulsively he asked, "What was your wife's name?"

"Anana Dex."

"Excuse me? Dex? That was her family name?"

"Yes. A very large and important family on Sateda, I understand. All lost, of course. All lost."

John remained silent for nearly a minute in surprise and near disbelief. How was it possible? Finally he said, "When we get back, there's someone I want you to meet."

"Of course. A member of your party?"

"My team, and yes."

"And here we are." The building they'd been in appeared as they emerged from the shrub-lined path, arranged like a series of round rooms linked together, with a stream running beneath a bridge connecting two of the larger rooms. On the bridge was McKay, studying his life signs detector. He looked up and raised his hand in greeting.

"Hey," John said when they'd come in speaking range. "You will never believe this."


	26. Kahlúa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story a day for the month of January, 2009 (with three exceptions). Each day's story is posted as a chapter, but they are unrelated to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kanaan/Teyla; John/Rodney.

"What _is_ this stuff?" John asked, staring into his cup. Then he stared at the cup -- pottery decorated with tiny images of animals fucking.

"Coffee liqueur," Ronon said, draining his cup and licking his mustache.

"Coffee liqueur? You mean like Kahlúa?"

"Dunno. But it's good, and easy to make."

John put down his cup. "You made this."

"Yeah. Colleen from Chemistry showed me how. S'easy." He took another sip, and lay down flat on his back, staring up.

"Sweet, though," Kanaan said, but John noticed he was glugging it right down. "Sweeeeet."

"Oh my god, you're all drunk," Rodney said. He was lying on his stomach staring out to sea.

"I'm not drunk," John said, sitting up straight, but it was too much work and he slumped back down, bare feet dangled over the edge of the pier. Rodney lay on John's left, Ronon on his right, and Kanaan next to Ronon. Behind them, faint lights glowed in the night, and every now and then John thought he heard voices, or music.

Suddenly a light flared behind them, and Teyla came out. Rodney sat up, and they all twisted to watch her; she danced lightly to them. She was wearing diaphanous fabric twisted around her and tied with a gold cord from which hung a tassel and a bell, so she jingled as she danced, humming beneath her breath. "Hello," she said, coming to next to Kanaan.

"Hello," he said, smiling up at her. Then she plopped down into his lap and they rolled back, laughing.

John looked away, smiling to himself, a bit embarrassed but happy for Teyla. Rodney said, "Oh my god, get a _room_ ," but Ronon just leaned over and kissed Teyla, and then Kanaan. That made Rodney scramble to lean across John. "Did he -- did they?" he whispered into John's ear, making him shiver.

John pushed him back and poured more liqueur into Rodney's and his cups. "Bottom's up," he said. Rodney continued to stare, so John elbowed his ribs and gestured at the cup he'd filled. Rodney obediently sipped at it, sighing.

Ronon sat up and pulled Teyla upright, letting Kanaan sit up, all laughing. "That is so hot," Rodney murmured to himself. John nodded.

"What a beautiful night," Teyla said. "Hello, John! Rodney! Is this not a beautiful night?"

"Very beautiful," Rodney said. "Just like you."

John raised his cup in her direction. "What he said."

She beamed at them. "The stars are so bright. Did you know that some of the Atlantian scientists also play music? They have a _band_. They play very loud and fast. I was dancing." She stretched out a leg and pointed her toes, then slowly raised her leg. The material fell away, and John felt almost light-headed. He heard Rodney groan next to him.

"Better than Carter," he asked, turning to look at Rodney.

Rodney snorted. "She's with O'Neill, I hear."

"I thought she was with that Teal'c guy," John said.

"Naw. She's with Doctor Jackson," Ronon said, scratching his jaw.

"She is with all three," Teyla said. She rested her head on Kanaan's shoulder. "She told me. All three at once. For years and years. I have never had three men at once."

"Just two," Kanaan said confidently. "That was a good time. The Night of _Kteis_ , remember?"

John turned to look at Rodney, whose eyes were popping. Rodney said, "Sam's with _all three_?"

"Oh, yes," Teyla said. "Did you not know? I thought you did; you seemed to know them well."

"Oh my god," Rodney said. "Oh my fucking god."

"A fucking god," Ronon said, and laughed and laughed.

John turned away from them and said fiercely to Rodney, "Did you hear what Kanaan just said?"

"Yeah, so? Carter's with _three_ men. She didn't have the time of day for me, oh no, but those guys . . ." He scowled into the night.

John wanted to smack Rodney upside the head, but instead he took a deep gulp of the coffee liqueur Ronon had made. Jesus, it was strong. He felt as though the entire pier were swaying beneath him, and when he leaned back and looked up, the stars seemed to be dancing above him. "I am so drunk," he said.

"I'm not nearly drunk enough," Rodney said, and poured more liqueur. Then he sloshed more into John's cup. "Neither are you. Ronon?"

Ronon snored. Kanaan and Teyla whispered to each other; Kanaan slowly ran his hand up Teyla's bared leg and under the skirt of her outfit. Her bell tinkled. John quickly looked at Rodney.

"I've been with two men," Rodney said dreamily. "No Sam, though. Never with Sam. Just a couple kisses and some hugs."

The pier lurched beneath John. "You've been in a three-some? With two guys?"

"Yeah. It was great. Sucked and fucked all night long. In Antarctica, at the Pole. Years ago I wintered over, ha ha, what a waste of my time, but shit, it was worth it for that one night."

John realized he didn't know any of these people. He'd worked with them for years, lived along side them, witnessed their growth, their losses, their joys, and he didn't know them. He finished the cup, set it down next to Ronon, and lay back on the pier. The stars continued to dance above him. Ronon snored quietly. Kanaan and Teyla were kissing, soft sensuous noises. Rodney continued to mourn.

John turned his head to study Rodney, who was still mumbling to himself about Sam and multiple partners and the utter unfairness of life. John's eyelids were heavy, and the world around him appeared to be in motion, but he forced himself to watch Rodney, always fascinating. "Oh man," Rodney said abruptly, and lay back next to John. "I'm drunk."

John laughed, stretching, and sighed. "I noticed," he said.

Rodney rolled onto his side, his arm folded beneath his head. "Nice night," he said quietly. Ronon snorted, stirred, and then settled down again. Rodney smiled. "Suppose we should go in."

"Naw," John said. "It is a nice night. Might stay out here all night long." In unison, they both looked up at the sky, almost white with stars even though two moons shone whitely, their long trails zig-zagging across the rippled surface of the ocean. The entire night seemed white, and light, and bright, and John laughed at himself.

"What?" Rodney whispered.

"Nothing," John said. "Just. I dunno. Happy."

"Happy," Rodney said. He sighed. "Yeah." John poked his stomach, and Rodney batted irritably at his hand. "Yeah, happy. I am, too. It's a good night."

John agreed. The air was pleasantly warm now after a hot day, the pier comfortably radiating back that warmth. He was a bit drunk, yes, but not enough that he couldn't respond to an emergency, and he knew there were others guarding Atlantis right now. He was with his friends, the closest friends he'd ever known. He smiled to himself as he remembered when he'd told Teyla that they were family. He really would do anything for them.

He was surprised when Rodney scooted nearer to him, and then rested his big hand on John's face. He turned on his side.

Rodney said, "You can pass this off as me being drunk if you want."

"Pass what off?"

"My pass at you."

"You're making a pass at me?"

"If you won't kick me off the pier, then yeah, I am."

Maybe he was more drunk that he'd realized, John thought, but he liked the idea. He could feel the warmth radiating from Rodney, warmer than the pier and the air around them. Rodney was slowly stroking John's face now: his jaw-line, his ear, down his nose, and very gently across his lips. John parted his mouth and heard Rodney inhale sharply. He turned his face into Rodney's hand. "John," Rodney whispered.

What the hell, John thought. "Yeah," he whispered. Rodney's face was right there; the night was bright enough that John could see his eyes, how open his face was, and he understood that Rodney wasn't that drunk at all. He turned his head slowly, took a deep breath, and kissed Rodney.

"Are you drunk?" Rodney whispered.

"Little bit."

"Should I stop?"

John kissed him in reply, a slow, indolent kiss he could relax into, as if he and Rodney were as accustomed to such kisses as Teyla and Kanaan were. Rodney made a tiny sound, a breathy noise of impatience, and pushed harder against John, cupping the back of his head. They pressed together, almost too hot in the warm night. Rodney's noises grew louder; John could feel them in his chest, and he kissed Rodney harder. He slid his hand between them, so he could rub Rodney's chest. Rodney lifted his hips and pressed them closer together; now John could feel Rodney's erection hard against his own and he gasped into Rodney's mouth.

"Tell me to stop," Rodney said barely audibly.

"No," John said. "No, don't, not now . . ."

Rodney pulled back enough to look into John's eyes. "I'm not drunk anymore," he said. His chest was heaving and John saw sweat gleaming on his forehead.

"Neither am I," John whispered, and pulled Rodney back to him. They rocked together, clinging tightly, Rodney's weight heavy and erotic on him. He found he was panting, his mouth open, sucking on Rodney's throat, biting his muscular shoulder while Rodney pushed his hand down the back of John's trousers, then into his boxers. John was shocked by the feel of his fingers, strong and hot, and shoved harder against Rodney's dick, opened his mouth wider, held him tighter.

Then Teyla made a deep groan, startling John. He twisted in Rodney's arms to look over Ronon's chest at Teyla and Kanaan. Rodney's face lay against his; he watched, too. Kanaan held Teyla, one arm behind her neck as he bent over her, kissing her breast, the other hand beneath her skirt. John and Rodney looked away. John was shocked and, unwillingly, aroused even more. He tried to pull away from Rodney, but he wouldn't let John go.

No more light fell from the windows behind them, nor could John hear any music or voices: the celebration had ended. He and his team were alone in the night, on the warm pier, the water sloshing against Atlantis. He sighed and let Rodney draw them back together.

Teyla moaned again, louder, and this time Rodney's chest bounced with quiet laughter. John laughed, too, covering his mouth. "We've got to get out of here," he whispered.

"How? Without disturbing them?"

"In the water," John breathed. "Slide into the water and swim around to the next level."

"Are you crazy?" Rodney asked, his voice going high, but John had already begun sidling toward the water, dangling his legs further over. They'd taken off their shoes earlier and the water was cool against his toes, but not cold, not by any means. He pushed himself further down, rolling onto his stomach.

"Come on," he told Rodney. "And be quiet."

Rodney huffed, but he, too, began to creep over the edge of the pier. The steps weren't really steps; they were too tall, but it meant they didn't plunge directly into deep water. "Ack," Rodney gasped when the water reached his balls. "That's a mood killer."

"It's not that cold," John insisted, but now that he was submerged, it was, kind of. They half-crawled, half-dogpaddled along the first step, away from where Ronon slept and Teyla and Kanaan were . . . whatever, and headed for the long end of the pier. "I've never been out here," John said.

"Shh, voices carry over water," Rodney whispered. "And neither have I. You think there are jellyfish? Sharks?"

"Whales?"

"That was on our last planet," Rodney said, and splashed John.

"Shh!" John said, but he splashed Rodney back, and then struck out swimming rather than creeping around the ledge. He heard Rodney follow him; he was a surprisingly good swimmer for someone who complained so much about the water temperature, the waves, the killer fish, and myriad other threats. They rounded the tip of the pier and then swam side-by-side, faster and faster until they were racing. John's blood was up now: the celebration, Ronon's home-made liqueur, his arrested arousal on the pier, the excitement of seeing Teyla so uninhibited had energized him in every way. Laughing, he reached for the submerged ledge and dragged himself out of the water. Rodney grabbed the waistband of John's drenched trousers, pulling him back into the water, both laughing wildly, shushing each other, and laughing louder.

John pushed into the water again, floating on his back. "Oh god," he sighed. Rodney bobbed up next to him.

"Let's go in," Rodney said, looking intently at John. "Let's go."

"Go where?" John asked quietly. He shivered.

Rodney didn't answer. He struck out in a measured crawl, back toward Atlantis, and John followed him. Ashore again, Rodney looked at him somberly. John bit his lip, cocked his head, and pushed his shoulder against Rodney's. Then he swung his arm around Rodney, and they sloshed into Atlantis.

John didn't let go all night.


	27. Alien Metallic Toys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story a day for the month of January, 2009 (with three exceptions). Each day's story is posted as a chapter, but they are unrelated to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teyla Emmagan.

Torren had an unexpectedly deep chuckle that rarely failed to make others laugh in surprise and delight. Including his mother, who watched and laughed with him as he chased the little mechanical toys that John and Rodney used to compete with each other. They had obtained a third such toy, supposedly for Torren, but in fact Kanaan held the controller and the three men, rather than racing their toys as fast as possible down one of Atlantis' long corridors, were weaving them in and out and around each other in the middle of Teyla and Kanaan's quarters. They'd rolled up the rugs, pushed back the furniture, and now Torren's deep gurgling laugh made them all laugh.  


  
"He's like King Kong," John said.   


  
"We'll get him a tiny city to destroy," Rodney agreed.  


  
"One of your gods?" Kanaan asked, performing a wild veering maneuver that made Torren chase after his toy. "Like your Shiva?"  


  
"Well, not my Shiva," Rodney said. "More like the Tewa's Wahs."  


  
"Tewa's Wahs," John repeated, and they both laughed, making Torren laugh, which made them all laugh. Then John rammed his toy into Rodney's so hard it bounced onto Kanaan's. Torren yelped and grabbed his father's toy, then sat on John's. He looked up at the men in delight. "Wah!" he said, waving the toy around for emphasis.  


  
The three men crouched over him, laughing, trying to persuade him to release the toy, John mourning his sat-upon toy. Teyla leaned back against the bed and watched them, smiling so hard she thought she might cry.  


  
How frightened she had been while carrying Torren. Frightened that something would happen to him, that Kanaan might not be pleased, that John might change toward her, and most of all, for her baby. She wanted so much for him.  


  
Teyla had lost her mother when she was a little girl, so little that she had only the vaguest memories of her. Charin had been her mother in all the important ways, but Charin had been so much older, two generations away, and had seen so much loss that, though she was wise and kind, she carried much pain. Teyla's father, too, had never truly recovered from the loss of his partner. He had also taken his responsibilities toward the Athosians very seriously, and taught Teyla to do so as well.  


  
From the time she was little, she carried two burdens: her unwelcome gift of awareness of the Wraith, and knowing that she was expected to assume her father's role. Sometimes she enjoyed feeling special and apart; what young girl wouldn't? More often, though, she had been lonely and resentful. As an adult, she had been alone even in the midst of her people, meeting with the elders, negotiating with other peoples, working to ensure her own people's survival. She was good at her work, and often enjoyed it, but she carried the weight of so many losses.  


  
Watching her son laugh with his father and her friends, she couldn't help but smile, but neither could she help wondering what burdens would be his. Raised in the city of Atlantis, spending only part of his childhood among his people, would he even recognize a difference? The Atlanteans were fine and strong and she loved many of them, but they were not Athosian. Even the most sensitive among them, her dear friend Kate, could never understand what it mean to be Athosian, and especially not what it felt like to be Athosian in Atlantis. Always different, always catching up, always either learning or teaching until she was tired of teaching.  


  
Kanaan was such a relief to come home. No need to explain why certain days she wore a certain necklace, or woke early to greet the dawn, or meditated through the night. He would join her when he could, and as Torren grew up, that would be more often. More Athosians were living in the city, and Teyla hoped more would choose to make Atlantis their home, for herself and Kanaan as well as for Torren.   


  
She knew other people had experienced this slow loss of culture; the Atlantean anthropologists who had a first studied her, as if she were an Ancient artifact or a newly discovered creature, but over the years they'd become friends. Two had since apologized to her, coming to her separately and, she thought, secretly. One didn't apologize to an artifact, or empathize with a bug, or become friends with some utterly alien.  


  
John had been different from the very first. Now that she knew him as well as she did, she marveled that he had spoken so kindly and with such shared humor at their very first meeting. Later, she had learned that the Athosians were the very first non-Earth people he had met, and she believed his profound shock at the discovery that other worlds of other people existed had startled him out of his usual laconism. Out of his shyness. Whatever the reason, they had met heart-to-heart that night, and their connection had never been severed.  


  
Watching John tussle with her son, joke with her husband, tease their friend Rodney, she knew him as the brother she'd never had. Perhaps his alienation and isolation had prepared him for her. Perhaps she was misreading him. But he had given her hope that the newcomers to the home of the Ancients could be more than allies in a war, more than -- as she'd heard Rodney say -- be the enemy of their enemy.  


  
Watching Torren play with the alien metallic toys, representations of artifacts that did not exist in Old Athos or New, nor in the city, she worried that he would take them for granted. Would he find Earth culture more entrancing that his own? So many toys and foolish _things_ ; John and Rodney continually exchanged cultural references that seemed foolish and trivial to her, and to Kanaan and Ronon and others. Would Torren find Batman and Robin more important than Kusla and Deroh? Would he prefer to listen to Winnie the Pooh than to the Story of Little Shadow? Would he wish his parents Merry Christmas or Reflective Long Night?  


  
Was she foolish to worry? Kanaan said they should adopt the newcomers' ways; two are always stronger than one, he reminded her, using an Old Athosian saying. But the saying referred to marriage, not to alliances; did it apply to Teyla's concerns?  


  
"Ma!" Torren shouted, and she discovered him in front of her holding out Rodney's little toy. How had he taken if from Rodney? He grinned at her, and she couldn't help smiling back at him. Her beautiful boy, happy and healthy. "Truck!" He turned and fell to his hands and knees, pushing the wheeled toy and shouting, "Big truck!"  


  
"Well, no, not a truck, but we should get him a truck," Rodney said.  


  
"Only if Teyla approves," John said, watching her.  


  
"It's just a truck," Rodney scoffed.   


  
"Big truck!" Torren insisted to his father, who was letting Torren use his legs as race tracks for the toy.  


  
"We shall see," Teyla said. "Thank you for sharing your toy, Rodney."  


  
He looked crossly at her, but a smile quirked his crooked mouth. "Yes, Mum," he said. She lightly slapped his shoulder. She really didn't like when he called her _mum_ , but she also took his point.  


  
Well, Torren would be whoever he was. Maybe the lightness of the Atlanteans would blend with the seriousness of the Athosians in him. Both peoples were hard workers and both knew loss. Maybe this would be a good thing, something she should rejoice in.  


  
But even as she laughed to hear her son's delighted burble and to watch him play with the adults who loved him, she worried. What would he be losing if they stayed here in Atlantis? Could she persuade enough Athosians to live here, enough to reach some critical mass, as Rodney would say, that would keep Torren Athosian? What did being Athosian even mean now?  


  
Rodney succeeded in swapping his toy for Kanaan's, which obviously gave him much pleasure. He and John huddled together, shoulders bumping, while Kanaan looked on, trying to keep Torren from grabbing Rodney's toy back. "See, but it only works if we all agree," Rodney said earnestly, making John and Kanaan laugh, and then Torren laughed because they did.  


  
John glanced at her again, and she smiled, sighing inwardly. Good, well-meaning people who loved her and her son unreservedly. Perhaps her task was not unique; many people had to resettle after a Wraith culling or an agricultural or climatic disaster. Their own dear Ronon was now more Atlantean than Satedan. And she knew that John and Rodney had changed, too, that they were no longer the people they had been on Earth.  


  
She resolved to find hope in those facts. She was determined to hold onto her Athosian heritage as best she could, to be certain that Torren knew he was Athosian. To see that he celebrated the same holidays and performed the same rituals that she and Kanaan had when they were young and, if she was fortunate enough to meet her grandchildren, to see they did as well.  


  
Torren laughed again at something Rodney and Kanaan had done, his big laugh, deep and surprising in a child so young, delighted at the world, safe in the arms of people who loved him, happy with everything in his life. She laughed, too, and surreptitiously wiped her eyes. There was no answer, she decided. There was only the endless attempt to create a life worth living.


	28. Séance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story a day for the month of January, 2009 (with three exceptions). Each day's story is posted as a chapter, but they are unrelated to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John Sheppard/Rodney McKay.

"I'm not going to go!" Rodney shouted from across the lab.   


  
Teyla walked swiftly to him. "You must go, Rodney. We all must go."  


  
"To some ridiculous séance? I think not. It's insulting."  


  
"It is neither a séance nor insulting; it is an honor."  


  
"To whom? Not to me. Spirits and ancestors -- Teyla, I love and respect and fear you, but no. Just no."  


  
"Very well," Teyla said, lifting her head and narrowing her eyes. "Then I shall bother you no more."  


  
"Oh, shit," Rodney said. He looked around the lab, largely empty this time of evening. Not even Radek was there, only Sim Frazier, reviewing the results of the most recent telescope John had placed in orbit so they could study the sun's corona. He very carefully was not looking at Rodney.  


  
Rodney followed Teyla, hurrying to keep up with her. "Teyla," he said, "Teyla, please, wait."  


  
She whirled around and crossed her arms.  


  
"Um," he said. "I could have phrased that better."  


  
Her mouth tightened.  


  
"It's just -- "  


  
"I know what it is. My people's traditions do not fit within your conceptualization of the universe and so they are therefore wrong, not worth your time. That this is important to me personally and will benefit Atlantis is of no importance. I understand completely."  


  
"Well, put like that," he said. "You already knew I was a jerk."  


  
"I did."  


  
"But you expected a different reaction."  


  
"I always expect more from you Rodney. Most of the time, you do not disappoint me."  


  
"Who else is going?"  


  
She sighed. "Kanaan. Torren. Tagan. John. Ronon. Lilianna. Many others as well."  


  
"Lilianna? The new psychologist? Oh, that's great."  


  
"Yes, it is great, as you say. She is quite interested in learning more about the ceremony."  


  
They stared at each other. Rodney thought she was being unreasonable, but he always doubted himself around Teyla. She was the wisest person he'd ever known. And John was going, which meant he'd have to put up with his bitching if he didn't go, and not just because that meant John couldn't go. "Dammit," he finally said, and Teyla's face relaxed. She took his hands.  


  
"Even if you do not find the ceremony interesting, perhaps the time away will be good for you."  


  
He shrugged. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. He really was, too. "Just, you know."  


  
"I know," she said. After an awkward moment, he bent down so their foreheads met. "You are a good man, Rodney McKay," Teyla said softly. "But you are a most stubborn man as well."  


  
He laughed. "I always give in to you eventually," he pointed out. She raised her eyebrows and he let her go.  


  
So. He was going to the séance. He should let John know.  


  
He shut down his computer, letting the simulation run, said goodnight to Frazier, and went to his quarters. He took a shower and dressed in sweats; it was a chilly night in Atlantis. He flopped onto the bed, laptop on his stomach, and began reading "Self-sustained spin-polarized current oscillations in multiquantum well structures." He wished he had a beer.  


  
Rodney was yawning so hard tears came to his eyes when he heard the door slide open. "In here," he called, and yawned again.  


  
"Hey," John said, tossing his earpiece onto the table. "You're home early. For you."  


  
"You're home late."  


  
"Yeah. Had some trouble with some of the new Marines. Two of them got drunk and then fought."  


  
"Over what?"  


  
John shrugged. "Who knows. Bored, probably. We keep them busy, but maybe not busy enough. I asked Lorne and Ronon to look into it."  


  
"Ha. That'll serve 'em right."  


  
John sat on the bed next to Rodney. "Teyla talk to you?"  


  
He smacked John's arm. "Yes, thank you."  


  
"So we're going?" Rodney just looked at him; Teyla had talked to him; of course he was going. "Good." Rodney opened his mouth but John said quickly, "And it's not a séance."  


  
Rodney rolled his eyes, but he couldn't help smiling. Then he sniffed at John and wrinkled his nose.   


  
"Yeah, I need a shower," John said. He paused, hands on his thighs, to look at Rodney, then swiftly kissed him and headed to the bathroom.  


  
Rodney's smile grew. He straightened the bed covers, folded them back, and crawled in, propping himself up on pillows. He meant to continue reading the journal article, but it seemed dull now. Instead, he dimmed the light, settled back, and let himself wait. John returned shortly, still damp, scrubbing at his hair with a towel but otherwise nude. "Nice view," Rodney said, folding his hands behind his head. "Any chance of getting up close and personal?"  


  
John tossed the towel across the back of a chair and came to the bed. "Better?"  


  
"Much," Rodney murmured as John came nearer. Rodney could see the water still spangling his hair. He raised himself a bit to meet John's lips, kissing him tenderly. John pushed him back again, against the pillows, and Rodney held up the sheet so John could slide in beside him, damp and cool. They rolled together, kissing more deeply; Rodney pushed his leg over John's hip and felt his prick fill against Rodney's thigh. The rush of desire was so swift that he gasped, then rolled on top of John. He ran his hand down John's long back, to the hollow, and then over the rise of his ass. John groaned and pushed harder into him, fierce rocking motions that took Rodney's breath away until he was panting. Sweat puddled between them; so much for the shower, Rodney thought, and harshed out a laugh.   


  
John parted his legs and planted his knees on either side of Rodney, then sat up. He used the sheet to mop Rodney's stomach. Settled more firmly on Rodney, he began to rock, letting Rodney's prick slide between his buttocks while he stroked his cock. Rodney watched him: his eyes closed, head lifted, mouth slightly open, a small frown on his face -- concentrating so hard on their pleasure. Rodney reached up to run his hand across John's chest, through the thick hair, lightly pinching a nipple. He was so hard he ached, but he gently pushed John still. "Fuck me?" he asked.   


  
John smiled his slow sexy smile. "Fuck me," he said in a husky voice. "If you don't mind."  


  
Rodney chuckled. "Anything you want," he said, and he meant it. Anything.   


  
"Then let me . . ." John said, and rolled off Rodney, getting onto his stomach, butt in the air. Rodney crawled to the end of the bed, laughing to himself; an old favorite of theirs. He pushed a pillow under John, who pushed into it and made a sound like nothing else, a sound that kicked Rodney's arousal to a higher pitch. He crouched behind John, enjoying the view, massaging his thighs and ass, rubbing his face against John's pale skin. John groaned again, and Rodney stretched out, pressing his prick against the wadded up bedclothes. He took a deep breath, and lightly touched his tongue to John, kissing and licking his way in until he was nuzzling his hole, licking his perineum, sucking on his balls. Eyes closed, he listened to John's noises, pushed deeper into him. John pushed back, letting Rodney in; he licked his finger and slid it into John, such a terrifying and sexy action, knowing he could do this to John.  


  
"Come on," John gasped. "Do something."  


  
Rodney twisted his finger, pushed deeper, still licking and kissing John. He slowly pulled away and grabbed the bottle of lubricant. It smelled fresh, and the light, slippery sensation on his prick made him groan. They re-arranged themselves on the bed, John kicking the sheet away from his feet. Rodney rested his hand on the small of John's back, kissed his shoulder, took a deep shuddery breath, and then slowly began to work his way inside. They both trembled, and John made little gasping noises. Rodney knew exactly how to move to make John feel good, and he focused on that, on John, but his own orgasm pulled him away. John pushed back and down, rolled his hips, and then again. Rodney bent over him, resting his forehead on John's damp back, and then came, crying out when John pumped back again, rocking himself on Rodney's prick and then pushing into the pillow, back and forth, until Rodney's knees and back hurt and he was too sensitive, and then John gasped, shuddered, and collapsed.  


  
"Holy shit," John said. "Get off me."  


  
Rodney pulled away carefully, and lay down next to John. His hair was matted with sweat. "Hey."  


  
"Hey," John said. They kissed, John pulled the sheet back up over them, and Rodney let himself drift. He thought he heard John say something, but his voice was soft and deep, just a comforting noise, and soon fell into a regular snore.

Rodney dozed for a while, not quite awake, but not fully asleep. He knew where he was, who he was with, but he felt s if they were floating, being rocked in a warm boat. Then he too fell asleep.  


  
Their alarm went off far too early for Rodney. "Fuck me," he groaned, stretching.  


  
"Tonight, if you're lucky," John said, already out of bed. "Come on. Sooner you're up, sooner you'll have coffee."  


  
"Not even Peet's Sumatra Blue Batak would be worth this," he grumbled, but he sat up, scrubbing at his hair. John walked by and Rodney lunged, grabbing him around his hips and pulling him closer to rub his face into John's belly. "Mmm."  


  
John laughed, wrapping his arms around Rodney's shoulders, bent over and kissed the top of his head. "Bed head," John said.  


  
"What there is of it," Rodney said bitterly, and nipped John's belly. "Mmm, breakfast."  


  
John coaxed him out of bed and into the bathroom. "I'm not shaving!" Rodney shouted at him through a mouthful of toothpaste. He doubted John would, either.

They found Ronon, Kanaan, Torren, and Teyla in the mess hall, with Tagan sound asleep in Kanaan's arms. "Lucky kid," Rodney said, but quietly. While they ate, Liliana Rodriquez came in, looking as sleepy as Rodney felt. She carried an enormous thermos mug and filled it with coffee. Rodney thought maybe she wasn't as awful as he'd thought.  


  
"I can't believe I volunteered for this," Lilianna said, rubbing one eye. "No offense, Teyla, Kanaan, but I am not a morning person."  


  
"No offense taken," Kanaan said, smiling at her. He looked as awake as John did, Rodney noted resentfully. All these awake people. He drank more coffee and envied Tagan, so completely relaxed in his father's arms.  


  
Lorne stopped by their table. "Take care of my city," John told him.  


  
"I'll do my best," Lorne promised. "Bring back something good to eat."  


  
"Don't party too hard," Rodney said through a mouthful of eggs.  


  
"How'd --" Lorne rolled his eyes. "Radek tell you?"  


  
"Rodney, we're not supposed to know," John said mock severely. "Have a good time."  


  
"You, too," Evan said. "See you when you get back." He left then, heading toward the steam tables.  


  
"We should leave soon," Teyla said. Rodney ate faster. He knew he was expected to grouse and whine, and he obliged, and it was too early for him, plus he was right in the middle of a fascinating investigation of a nearby galaxy's black hole. The sooner they went, the sooner he'd be back at work. When the others began to stand, he took a final gulp of coffee and rose, looking at John. John handed him a paper napkin, so he wiped his mouth, and then they headed toward the gateroom.  


  
Other Athosians had already gathered there, including Halling and Jinto, almost as tall as his father, and Agneta, one of the Athosians Rodney was especially fond of. She worked in the materials science labs, studying the grain boundaries in Ancient crystals. Her younger brother Irwo was with her, kicking at another young man -- no, playing a game with a small squarish sack, kicking it between them. Rai, that was his name. Pel was there, arms folded, looking sour as she watched her grandfather fiddle with the fringe of his _eschirp_. In the midst of the crowd, Rodney also saw Pansy from Botany, and did he hate her name, but she seemed nice enough. She stood with her husband Derbe, who'd only recently moved to Atlantis from Athos and seemed a little uncomfortable, even to Rodney.  


  
Two jumpers were filling up as the people slowly filed up the rear hatch, chatting, trying to rein in the kids, shouting greetings to people entering the other jumper. For once, John wasn't flying and Rodney wouldn't have the coveted passenger's seat; they stood in line with everyone else and inched their way forward. "Hey, hey," John said, catching Rai when he darted nearly under Rodney's feet to catch the little kicking sack. "Where's your mom?"  


  
"I'm here," E-ts said. "Rai, e-chaiah, we must board." He sulkily gave her his hand, but suddenly grinned at Rodney, who winked. "This is our first time," E-ts said quietly to John. "What to expect?"  


  
"Boring," Rodney whispered, looking away ostentatiously. John pulled Rodney nearer, as if to make sure he couldn't get into trouble.  


  
"It is what it is," John finally said. "It means a lot to the Athosians, and it definitely has meaning --"  


  
"Such as?" Rodney interrupted. John ignored him.  


  
"And most people feel, uh, different, you know, afterwards."  


  
E-ts nodded. Rodney knew her story; she wasn't Athosian, though Rai was, born of a couple culled not long after his birth. E-ts was from a small city in the far northern continent on Sateda that had been culled early on, when she was a teenager. She had had to make her way alone, and so when she finally joined up with the Athosians and the Atlanteans a few years ago, she had adopted Rai. Rodney admired her -- in some ways she reminded him of Jeannie in that she preferred to work in the fields. Her Satedan family had been famous musicians, Ronon had told Rodney and John, and sometimes, when helping the Athosians at harvest, Rodney had heard E-ts singing. Her voice had been damaged in her years of exile, but also like Jeannie she had perfect pitch and he found it a pleasure to listen to her.  


  
Rai was a pain in the ass, though, he thought. Despite his brilliant smile and intelligence, he was the age Rodney liked least: full of energy but no common sense.  


  
Finally, they made it into the crowded jumper. Though most of the Athosians had moved to Atlantis and had taken over the southwest pier, where they grew produce and raised Earth chickens and Athosian goats, some preferred the mainland, and it was not unusual for teenagers to spend a few years there before returning to Atlantis and school.   


  
Every few years, calculated by an Athosian calendar set to a forgotten sun, these séances were held. This would be Rodney's third in ten years, and while he shuffled for room on the jumper, he resigned himself to going to every one in the future. John seemed to like them, though he was his usual incoherent self when Rodney tried to ask him why. He'd said more to E-ts just now, that he felt differently after one. Rodney shrugged. He looked at John.  


  
He was studying the passengers in the jumper. Counting heads, probably, in case something happened. But then he looked at Rodney, and Rodney forgot his irritation. They stood closer, John hanging on to an overhead cabinet.  


  
"Hatch closing, people," the Marine flying this jumper called out. He caught sight of John and almost stood to salute, bumping his knees. "Um, Atlantis, this is Jumper One and we're good to go.  


  
"Jumper Two, ready to go," a voice said over the air. Everyone braced themselves, including Rodney, who leaned against John.   


  
"Jumper One, you're clear for lift-off," someone responded. Rodney thought it was the new guy, Stephenson, and then, with barely a tremor, they began to move.  


  
The flight to mainland was about twenty minutes, which Rodney found a bit long to stand but Kanaan made him take his seat. Rodney watched as Kanaan stood talking to John while Torren stood between Rodney's legs playing a string game. Tagan was still asleep, and Teyla dozed.   


  
"Here, try this move," Rodney said quietly to Torren, and showed him another pattern to make in the string.   


  
Teyla woke when they landed and people began talking excitedly again. Rodney stayed with her, watching John and Kanaan flow out with the others. He was happy when they finally stepped out into the fresh air, and though he'd never admit it, happy to see it was a fine sunny day for the séance.  


  
John and Kanaan waited for them, so they walked together, Torren bouncing ahead of them, trying to play with Irwo and Rai, but they were too old to want to bother with him. Rodney remembered Jeannie trying to catch his attention when he was that age and felt a pang -- he'd give anything for a do-over of those years. At least she was in his life now.  


  
The teenagers living on the mainland had been hard at work under the guidance of the elders in charge of the séance. The path through the forest had been freshly cleared and lined with small stones. They'd even set planks into the steeper places as they climbed the hill. They broke from the forest onto a gently rounded knoll covered in knee-high sweetgrass in full flower. Rodney sneezed.  


  
Wiping his nose and looking around, he counted around seventy people here this afternoon, most from the city but many either living here or camping out in preparation for the ceremony. The path ended in a clearing right at the edge of the hill that sloped steeply down to a narrow beach. John immediately led them right to the very edge; from there, Rodney could hear the waves roll onto the beach and back out, leaving behind a darker ring of sand that bubbled and frothed. The air was soft with mist rising from the ocean, above which the sky was very clear.   


  
Kambing, an Athosian elder who had chosen to live on the mainland, clapped his hands and called out something. Rai ran to him, laughing, and Kambing stroked his head, smiling at him and at E-ts. They embraced. Then Rai picked up the heavy bell next to Kambing and began to ring it, swinging it high and hard. Everyone turned and got into place.  


  
Rodney studied them as they formed a sloppy circle around Kambing, E-ts, and Rai. Halling and Jinto joined them, and another elder whose name Rodney could never remember. It was almost _Charin_ , the name of Teyla's old friend, but not quite. She had a big voice, he remembered from past years.  


  
She gently stilled Rai's wild swinging of the bell and kissed him; then he and E-ts merged with the circle, not far from Pel and her grandfather, still lost in the fascination of his _eschirp_. John pulled Torren between him and Rodney, both their hands on his shoulders, and Teyla stood next to John with Kanaan on the other side of her.   


  
Everyone fell silent. The sun was still low in the sky so they cast long shadows stretching away from the ocean back toward the forest. One of the kids discovered if he raised his arm, the shadow nearly touched the trees; his mother took his hand and stilled him.  


  
Kambing began speaking in Old Athosian, his voice a deep rumble and so loud Rodney could feel it in his chest. Old Athosian was not translated for him, but he knew many of the words by now. They all did.   


  
_We are together_ , Kambing was saying, or something like that. _We are here together_ , which Rodney couldn't deny. He rambled on, his voice getting deeper and deeper, going to ground, as Kambing called it, a deep droning with a high tremolo, almost a whistle. Rodney had been surprised the first time he'd heard Kambing sing, but he'd done some studying since then and learned that many people in both galaxies had invented or discovered throat singing.   


  
He sighed, and closed his eyes. At least it was warm this time of year. He heard John yawn and felt him slump against him. This would take a while.  


  
Kambing's droning made everyone a bit sleepy, Rodney knew. He breathed slowly and deeply, listening to the waves behind them and Kambing in front of them. Occasionally a breeze would stir the sweetgrass they stood in, making a hushed noise and releasing the fragrance of the blossoms.  


  
Kambing stopped singing. For a long while they stood in silence, and Rodney really listened. He could hear John breathing softly next to him, and tightened his arm around him. Someone sighed. A child asked a question and was shushed. A seabird called, and he heard its wings balancing on the updraft from the ocean.   


  
Then Kambing droned but in a language Rodney could understand. "Winds through time, from universe to universe, from past to present to future to past, we float on the winds that know no home, that know no resting, that know no time, through time, through time, through time."  


  
Utter silence. Rodney kept his eyes closed, and held on a bit tighter to John, whose head was nearly resting on Rodney's shoulder. Rodney, too, felt completely relaxed. Many minutes later, Kambing began to drone again, a deep soft counterpoint to his high whistling sound, and Rodney realized he was chanting _name, name, name_.  


  
"John," Rodney said firmly, opening his eyes. He turned his head to John's tousled hair. John raised his head, his eyes sleepy, laugh lines deep around them.  


  
"Rodney," he said. They angled their heads to kiss, right there in the early sunlight. Around him, Rodney heard the others' voices repeating the names of their family.  


  
"Kanaan," Teyla's soft voice said. "Teyla," Kanaan answered. They both said, "Torren. Tagan. John. Rodney. Ronon. Halling. Jinto. Chasma."  


  
That reminded Rodney, and he and John parted, faces still close, and they whispered to each other, "Jeannie. Dave. Teyla. Ronon. Kanaan. Torren. Tagan. Radek. Evan."   


  
On and on the names were spoken, hushed but certain. Names of the family. Their family. All families. The family.  


  
 _Name, name, name_ , Kambing droned.  


  
 _John_ , Rodney thought. _John, John, John, and always John_.


End file.
